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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


THE  MILLIONAIRE 


SOME  PRESS  NOTICES  OF 

8ANINE 

"It  has  a  treble,  interest.  It 
discusses  sex-proUems  u-ith  U7i- 
usual  candotir  .  .  .  it  gives  a 
virid  picture  of  Bussian  life  . .  . 
and  it  reflects  the  welter  of 
thoiif/hts  and  aspirations  wliicli 
are  common  to  the  tchole  con- 
temporary Western  icorld." 

New  Statesman. 

"A  hook  which  deals  with 
powerful  human  passions  in  no 
lethargic  way.  It  may  horrify 
by  its  brutality,  and  its  assault 
on  ordinary  morality  may  well 
be  considered  startling:  yet  it 
counts  for  something  that  M. 
Artzihashef  does  not  display 
the  common  fear  of  life." 

Standard. 

"  It  is  of  the  greatest  interest 
psychologically,  as  an  outstand- 
ing product  of  a  despairing 
epoch  in  Bussian  history." 

Daily  Chronicle. 

"  The  artistry  of  the  novel, 
brutal,  direct,  detached,  coura- 
geous, desperately  poignant,  is 
not  to  be  disputed." 

Evening  Standard. 

*'  Tlie  strength  of  the  book  is 
undeniable."     Sunday  Times. 

"  This  is  a  strong  and  fascinat- 
ing story  depicting  the  unfettered 
life  of  a  young  Hussion  .  .  . 
the  background  of  society  and 
Russian  scenery  is  excellent." 
Manchester  Courier. 

SIXTH     IMPRESSION 


IN  PREPARATION 

TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 
BREAKING-POINT 


THE 

MILLIOJSTAIEE 

BY    MICHAEL    ARTZIBASHEF 


TRANSLATED  BY 
PERCY  PINKERTON 
WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY    THE    AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 
B.  W.  HUEBSCH 

MCMXV 


PG- 

^4  ■' 


INTRODUCTION 

The  following  autobiographical  letter  was  written  by 
M.  Artzibashef  for  publication  at  the  request  of  a  friend  : 

You  ask  me  for  an  account  of  my  life. 

I  must  confess  that  your  request  embarrasses  me  some- 
what. An  autobiography  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  is, 
as  I  see  it,  a  difficult  and  intricate  piece  of  work.  For  such 
as  are  equipped  with  the  necessary  presumption  it  is  easy 
enough  ;  every  trivial  occurrence  in  their  life  seems  to  them 
an  important  event.  I  lack  this  praiseworthy  quality,  and 
therefore  must  apologize  before  I  attempt  my  task.  What 
little  I  can  tell  you  about  myself  is  brief  and  dull.  I  have 
followed  the  usual  course. 

I  was  born  in  the  year  1878  in  a  small  town  in  Southern 
Russia.  By  name  and  extraction  I  am  Tartar,  but  not  of 
pure  descent,  since  there  is  Russian,  French,  Georgian,  and 
Polish  blood  in  my  veins.  There  is  one  of  my  ancestors  of 
whom  I  am  proud,  and  that  is  the  well-known  Polish  rebel- 
leader  Kosciusko,  my  great  grandfather  on  the  maternal  side. 
My  father  was  a  small  landowner,  a  retired  officer ;  my 
mother  died  of  consumption  when  I  was  three  years  old, 
bequeathing  me  a  legacy  of  tuberculosis.  1  did  not  become 
seriously  ill  until  1907,  but  even  before  that  the  tuberculosis 
never  left  me  in  peace,  as  it  manifested  itself  in  various 
forms  of  illness. 

I  went  to  a  grammar-school  in  the  provinces  ;  hut  as  I 
had  taken  the  keenest  interest  in  painting  from  my  childhood, 
I  left  it  at  the  age  of  sixteen  and  ivent  to  a  school  of  art. 
I  was  very  poor ;  I  had  to  live  in  dirty  garrets  zvithout 
enough  to  eat,  and  the  worst  of  it  all  was  that  I  had  not 
enough  money  for  my  principal  needs — paints  and  canvas. 
So  it  was  not  given  to  me  to  become  an  artist  ;  to  earn  any- 
thing at  all  I  was  obliged  to  do  caricatures  and  write  short 
essays  and  humorous  tales  for  all  kinds  of  cheap  papers. 

5 

,.  796425 


^4 


INTRODUCTION 

The  following  autobiographical  letter  was   written  by 
M.  Artzibashef  for  publication  at  the  request  of  a  friend  : 

You  ask  me  for  an  account  of  my  life. 

I  must  confess  that  your  request  embarrasses  me  some- 
what. An  autobiography  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  is, 
as  I  see  it,  a  difficult  and  intricate  piece  of  work.  For  such 
as  are  equipped  with  the  necessary  presumption  it  is  easy 
enough  ;  every  trivial  occurrence  in  their  life  seems  to  them 
an  important  event.  I  lack  this  praiseworthy  quality,  and 
therefore  must  apologize  before  I  attempt  my  task.  What 
little  I  can  tell  you  about  myself  is  brief  and  dull.  1  have 
followed  the  usual  course. 

I  was  horn  in  the  year  1878  in  a  small  town  in  Southern 
Russia.  By  name  and  extraction  I  am  Tartar,  but  not  of 
pure  descent,  since  there  is  Russian,  French,  Georgian,  and 
Polish  blood  in  my  veins.  There  is  one  of  my  ancestors  of 
whom  I  am  proud,  and  that  is  the  well-known  Polish  rebel- 
leader  Kosciusko,  my  great  grandfather  on  the  maternal  side. 
My  father  was  a  small  landowner,  a  retired  officer  ;  my 
mother  died  of  consumption  when  I  was  three  years  old, 
bequeathing  me  a  legacy  of  tuberculosis.  I  did  not  become 
seriously  ill  until  1907,  but  even  before  that  the  tuberculosis 
never  left  me  in  peace,  as  it  manifested  itself  in  various 
forms  of  illness. 
X?  /  went  to  a  grammar -school  in  the  provinces  ;  but  as  I 
had  taken  the  keenest  interest  in  painting  from  my  childhood, 
I  left  it  at  the  age  of  sixteen  and  zvent  to  a  school  of  art. 
I  was  very  poor  ;  I  had  to  live  in  dirty  garrets  zvithout 
^  enough  to  eat,  and  the  worst  of  it  all  was  that  I  had  not 
enough  money  for  my  principal  needs — paints  and  canvas. 
So  it  was  not  given  to  me  to  become  an  artist ;  to  earn  any- 
thing at  all  I  was  obliged  to  do  caricatures  and  write  short 
essays  and  humorous  tales  for  all  kinds  of  cheap  papers. 

5 


,.?9 


6125 


6  INTRODUCTION 

Quite  by  chance  in  the  year  1901  /  wrote  my  first  story. 
Pasha  Tumanoff.  An  actual  occurrence  and  my  own 
hatred  for  the  swperannuated  schools  suggested  the  subject. 
People  have  no  idea  of  what  a  Russian  grammar-school  is 
like.  The  innumerable  suicides  of  the  pupils,  which  still 
continue,  are  a  testimony  of  its  educational  value  for  Russian 
youth.  Pasha  Tumanoff  had  been  accepted  for  publica- 
tion by  one  of  the  most  distinguished  Russian  reviews,  but 
it  was  not  allowed  to  appear  because  the  censorship  at  that 
time  categorically  forbade  any  statements  to  be  made  which 
did  not  show  life  in  the  schools  in  a  pleasing  light.  Thus 
it  was  impossible  for  the  fiory  to  achieve  publicity  at  the 
right  time,  and  it  did  not  appear  until  some  years  later  in 
book  form.  That  has  been  the  fate  moreover  of  many  of  my 
things.  In  spite  of  this  the  story  was  not  withoui  favourable 
results  for  me  ;  it  attracted  the  attention  of  the  editorial  staff 
and  stimulated  me  to  further  work.  I  renounced  my  dream 
of  becoming  an  artist  and  transferred  my  allegiance  to 
literature.  This  was  very  hard ;  even  to-day  I  cannot  see 
paintings  without  emotion.  I  love  colours  more  than 
words. 

Pasha  Tumanoff  was  followed  by  two  or  three  stories 
which  interested  the  editor  of  a  small  review,  a  man  named 
Miroliuboff.  My  first  introduction  to  literary  circles  I  owe 
to  him.  Up  till  then  I  had  never  been  in  editorial  offices, 
but  had  always  sent  my  tales  by  post.  This  was  because  I 
imagined  them  as  temples  consecrated  to  literature,  which  I 
revered.  Nowadays  we  live  in  other  times  and  have  other 
customs  in  Russia ;  advertisement  and  influence  dominate 
the  literary  world.  However,  Miroliubojf's  name  will  leave 
its  mark  on  the  history  of  Russian  literature,  although  lie 
did  not  write  himself.  Re  was  the  last  Mohican  of  the  old 
idealistic,  self-sacrificing  school  of  literature,  which  has 
now  been  supplanted  by  commercial  interests  here,  as  it 
has  in  Western  Europe.  His  energy,  his  intelligence,  his 
touching  love  for  his  work,  and  the  wonderful  gift  of  a 
fascinating  personality  made  his  small  review,  which  only 
cost  a  rouble  a  year,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  publica- 
tions, while  from  a  literary  point  of  view  it  excelled  all  the 
other  large  and  expensive  ones.    The  greatest  exponents 


INTRODUCTION  7 

of  our  modern  literature — Maxim  GorJd,  Leonid  Andreyeff, 
Kuprin,  and  others — contributed  to  it.  It  has  now  been 
abandoned,  for  Miroliuboff  did  not  wish  to  lower  its  standard^ 
as  all  the  others  did,  even  in  the  darkest  days  of  the  RevolU' 
lion.  Miroliuboff  himself  was  obliged  to  seek  refuge  abroad 
from  Government  proceedings. 

My  acquaintance  with  him  was  of  the  greatest  importance 
to  me  'personally.  I  owe  to  him  much  of  my  development 
as  a  writer  ;  and  he  made  matters  easier  for  me  by  appointing 
me  sub-editor  of  his  paper,  although  at  that  time  1  was 
absolutely  unknown  and  very  young.  Miroliuboff  was  a 
born  editor  and  taught  me  also  to  like  the  occupation,  which 
I  continued  to  follow  even  after  his  review  had  been  given 
up,  editing  now  one  journal,  now  another.  I  look  upon  it  as 
one  of  my  merits  that  I  have  helped  so  many  young  writers, 
who  are  now  becoming  known. 

At  this  time,  that  is  to  say  in  the  year  1903,  /  wrote 
Sanine.  This  fact  is  wilfully  suppressed  by  Russian 
critics ;  moreover  they  try  to  persuade  the  public  that 
Sanine  is  an  outcome  of  the  reaction  of  the  year  1907, 
and  that  I  have  followed  the  fashionable  tendency  of  con- 
temporary Russian  literature.  In  reality,  however,  the 
novel  had  been  read  by  the  editors  of  two  reviews  and  by 
many  celebrated  authors  as  early  as  1903.  Again  I  owe 
it  to  the  censorship  and  the  timidity  of  publishers  that  it 
was  not  brought  out  at  the  time.  It  is  an  interesting  fact 
that  the  novel  was  refused  on  account  of  its  ideas  by  the 
editorial  staff  of  the  same  monthly  review,  "  Sovremionny 
Mios,"  which  some  years  later  begged  me  to  give  it  to  them 
for  publication.  In  this  way  Sanine  7nade  its  appear- 
ance five  years  too  late.  This  was  very  much  against  it  i 
at  the  time  of  its  appearance  literature  had  been  flooded  by 
streams  of  pornographic  and  even  homo-sexual  works,  and 
my  novel  was  liable  to  be  judged  with  these. 

The  book  was  received  with  the  greatest  interest  by  young 
people,  but  many  critics  protested  against  it.  This  may  be 
partially  explained  by  the  trend  of  thought  of  the  novel ; 
but  no  doubt  they  were  greatly  influenced  by  the  circum- 
stance that  I  patronized  our  literary  aftergrowth,  and  at  the 
same  time  stood  aloof  from  the  "  commanding  generals  of 


8  INTRODUCTION 

liieratiire,"  so  that  I  gradually  found  myself  opposed  to  all 
the  influential  literary  circles.  I  am  an  inveterate  realist^ 
a  disciple  of  the  school  of  Tolstoi  and  Dostoevsky,  whereas  at 
the  present  day  the  so-called  Decadents,  who  are  extremely 
unfamiliar,  not  to  say  antipathetic  to  me,  have  gained  the 
upper  hand  in  Russia. 

Later  than  Sanine,  but  before  its  publication,  that  is 
to  say  in  the  year  1904,  /  wrote  a  series  of  stories,  such  as 
Ensign  Gololoboff,  The  Madman,  The  Woman,  The 
Death  of  Ivan  Lande.  The  last-named  tale  *  brought  me 
what  is  known  as  fame. 

In  the  year  1905  the  bloody  Revolution  began  and  long 
distracted  me  from  what  I  consider  "  mine  " — the  preaching 
of  anarchical  individuality.  I  wrote  a  series  of  tales 
dealing  with  the  psychology  and  types  of  the  Revolution. 
My  favourites  among  them  are  Morning  Shadows  and 
The  Stain  of  Blood. 

/  must  observe  that  in  these  Tales  of  the  Revolution  I 
said  what  I  believe,  and  was  attacked  therefore  on  all  sides. 
Whereas  the  Black  Gangs  reckoned  me  among  the  spiritual 
originators  of  the  Revolution  and  one  even  condemned  me 
to  death,  the  Radical  press  attacked  me  because  I  recognized 
none  of  the  party-barriers  and  made  no  idols  of  the  revolu- 
tionary politicians.  Subsequent  events  proved  that  I  was 
right  in  many  cases,  when,  in  spite  of  my  enthusiasm  for 
the  cause  of  liberty,  I  did  not  think  the  time  had  come  to  see 
a  saint  in  every  ringleader  of  the  movement  and  to  believe 
in  the  revolutionary  readiness  of  the  people. 

At  this  time  much  that  I  had  written  for  purposes  of 
agitation  was  confiscated,  I  myself  was  indicted,  but  the 
temporary  success  of  the  Revolution  at  the  end  o/1905  saved 
me  from  punishment. 

Then  the  Revolution  came  to  an  end.  Society  rushed  to 
literature  which  in  quantity,  if  not  in  quality,  had  received 
a  new  impetus.  The  editors  of  the  monthly  review  zvho  had 
refused  my  Sanine  remembered  it  and  were  the  first  to 
publish  it.  It  evoked  almost  unprecedented  discussions,  like 
those  at  the  time  of  Turgeneffs  Fathers  and  Children. 
Some  praised  the  novel  far  more  than  it  deserves,  others 

*  Included  in  this  volume. 


INTRODUCTION  9 

complained  bitterly  that  it  was  a  defamation  of  youth.  I 
m^y,  however,  without  exaggeration  assert  that  no  one  in 
Russia  took  the  trouble  really  to  fathom  the  ideas  of  the 
novel.  The  eulogies  and  the  condemnations  are  equally 
one-sided. 

In  case  it  might  interest  you  to  know  what  I  myself  think 
of  Sanine,  I  zoill  tell  you  that  I  consider  it  neither  a  novel 
of  ethics  nor  a  libel  on  the  younger  generation.  Sanine 
is  the  apology  for  individualism  ;  the  hero  of  the  novel  is  a 
type.  In  its  pure  form  this  type  is  still  new  and  rare,  but 
its  spirit  is  in  every  frank,  hold,  and  strong  representative 
of  the  new  Russia.  A  number  of  imitators  who  have  never 
grasped  my  ideas  hastened  to  turn  the  success  0/ Sanine 
to  their  own  advantage  ;  they  injured  me  greatly  by  flooding 
the  literary  world  with  pornographic,  wantonly  obscene 
writings,  thus  degrading  in  the  readers'  eyes  what  I  wished 
to  express  in  Sanine. 

The  critics  persisted  in  ranking  me  with  the  number 
of  second-rate  imitators  of  Sanine  who  displayed  their 
"  marketable  wares  "  full  of  all  sorts  of  offensiveness.  Not 
until  recently,  when  Sanine  had  crossed  the  frontiers, 
and  translations  had  appeared  in  Germany,  France,  Italy, 
Bohemia,  Bulgaria,  Hungary,  Denmark,  and  also,  in  part, 
in  Japan,  were  other  voices  to  be  heard  among  the  critics. 
Russia  always  does  grovel  before  foreign  opinion. 

What  else  is  there  ? 

My  development  was  very  strongly  influenced  by  Tolstoi 
although  I  never  shared  his  views  on  "  non-resistance  to 
evil.''  As  an  artist  he  overpowered  me,  and  I  found  it 
difficult  not  to  model  my  work  on  his.  Dostoevsky,  and 
to  a  certain  extent  Tchekhoff,  played  almost  as  great  a  part, 
and  Victor  Hugo  and  Goethe  were  constantly  before  my  eyes. 
These  five  names  are  those  of  my  teachers  and  literary  masters. 

It  is  often  thought  here  that  Nietzsche  exercised  a  great 
influence  over  me.  This  surprises  me,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  I  have  never  read  Nietzsche.  This  brilliant  thinker  is 
out  of  sympathy  with  me,  both  in  his  ideas  and  in  the 
bombastic  form  of  his  works,  and  I  have  never  got  beyond 
the  beginnings  of  his  books.  Max  Stirner  is  to  me  much 
nearer  and  more  comprehensible. 


10  INTRODUCTION 

That  is  all  I  can  tell  you  about  myself.  Forgive  me  if  it 
is  too  little.  But  a  genuine  autobiography  is  a  confession, 
and  this  is  not  the  right  time.  And  I  have  neither  leisure 
nor  inclination  to  recount  private  incidents  in  my  life  in 
greater  detail. 

M.  ARTZIBASHEF. 


CONTENTS 


PACE 


THE  MILLIONAIRE  13 

IVAN  LANDE        '  117 

NINA  221 


THE   MILLIONAIRE 


Above  the  horizon,  round  and  lustrous,  the  moon  hung 
between  the  dark  heavens  and  the  sea.  As,  suspended 
by  unseen  wires  from  the  branches  of  the  trees,  all  the 
little  coloured  lamps  swayed  and  danced,  they  resembled 
a  bevy  of  radiant  humming-birds.  From  the  flaring 
stage,  where  like  some  droll  puppet  the  conductor  flourished 
his  arms  and  his  coat-tails,  as  if  preparing  for  immediate 
flight,  the  thrilling  tones  of  violins  resounded  on  every 
side.  Leaping,  laughing,  singing,  they  danced  along 
through  the  dark  trees,  in  airy,  fantastic  fashion,  away, 
away  to  the  vast,  shining  shore.  And  here,  beneath  the 
gaze  of  the  white  moon,  invisible,  indefinite,  they  danced 
for  the  brief  moment  that  made  up  their  phantom  life. 

Mishuicf  leant  his  strong  arms  on  the  cold  marble- 
topped  table,  as  in  moody  silence  he  glanced  sideways. 
If  he  looked  at  the  stage  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
surrounded  by  senseless  din  and  paltry  commotion,  but, 
as  he  turned  towards  the  sea,  all  appeared  calm  and 
majestic  and  wistful  as  the  pale  moon  overhead. 

His  fair,  curly  beard  and  massive  shoulders  denoted 
great  strength  and  indomitable  will-power,  but  his  eyes, 
sunken  and  unhealthy,  had  in  them  a  look  of  death.  At 
the  adjoining  table  there  was  a  little  convivial  group ; 
the  men  wore  hats  of  roguish  shape,  and  the  women, 
all  remarkably  good-looking,  were  very  much  made-up. 
There  was  loud  laughter  as  they  drank  toasts  to  each  other 
from  slender  glasses,  and  joked  without  ceasing.  With 
every  fresh  sally  their  voices  grew  louder,  as  they  looked 
round  at  Mishuief,  which  involuntarily  served  to  heighten 
the  effect  of  their  own  mirth.  Close  at  hand  stood 
obsequious  waiters  with  white  napkins  tucked  under 
their  arms,  who  never  took  their  eyes  off  Mishuief,  as 
though  ready  at  a  sign  from  him  to  plunge  head-foremost 
into  the  sea. 

13 


14  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

Mishuief,  though  he  saw  all  this,  yet  paid  no  heed. 
Once  he  had  found  it  occasionally  amusing ;  now  it  was 
merely  a  vexatious,  inevitable  formality. 

"  Theodore,  why  do  you  look  so  worried  to-day  ?  " 
asked  Maria  Sergeievna,  as  she  timidly  touched  his  arm. 

She  wore  a  provokingly  charming  gown,  which  only 
just  allowed  her  feet  to  move  freely.  Wavering  above 
her  dark  curls,  the  simple  flowers  in  her  hat  formed  a 
melancholy  contrast  to  her  painted  face,  tired  eyes,  and 
crimson  lips.  Clumsily,  as  some  jaded  bull,  Mishuief 
thrust  his  broad  head  towards  her,  but  said  nothing. 

Her  beauty  was  just  as  alluring  as  ever,  and  through 
the  black,  filmy  laces,  still  tl^e  splendour  of  her  bodily 
charm  made  its  wonted  appeal.  When  they  beheld  it, 
all  men  were  spellbound  as  by  some  dream  of  strange 
ecstatic  delight.  With  Mishuief  it  was  different.  The 
simple  fact  that  she  had  lost  her  real  name,  Maria  Serge- 
ievna, and  was  now  called  Mary,  and  that  she  no  longer 
addressed  him  as  "  Fedia,"  but  as  "  Theodor,"  using  the 
familiar  "  thou  " — this,  as  well  as  her  action  in  leaving 
her  husband  in  order  to  live  with  him,  had  effectually 
extinguished  the  passionate  reverence  with  which  till 
lately  he  had  regarded  her.  From  time  to  time  his  feeling 
now  was  one  of  cold,  unaccountable  aversion.  He 
seemed  to  be  taking  his  revenge  for  something,  at  the 
cost  of  unspeakable  anguish  to  himself.  Maria  Serge- 
ievna understood  the  reason  for  this,  and  thus  in  her 
eyes  there  was  a  shy,  sad  look,  as  if  they  dared  not  plead 
for  pity. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Mishuief  abruptly,  as,  rising,  he 
faced  the  inquisitive  glances  of  those  seated  near  him. 
She  hastily  got  up  in  her  usual  attractively  awkward  way 
which  once  had  distressed  Mishuief  so  acutely.  Caught 
at  first  in  the  lace  of  her  gown,  she  dropped  her  handker- 
chief, and  then  her  hand-bag,  each  time  with  a  droll, 
nervous  gesture,  before  she  at  last  accompanied  him. 

They  walked  down  to  the  shore  where  sea  and  moon 
alone  held  sway,  and  seated  themselves  on  a  bench  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  pier.  Facing  them,  and  on  either 
side,  was  the  vast  ocean  across  which  lay  a  band   of 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  15 

trembling  moonlight.  Ceaseless  was  the  sound  of  the 
waves  breaking  against  the  pier,  yet  all  the  while  a  silvery- 
voice,  melodious,  persistent,  if  scarcely  perceptible, 
echoed  across  the  tempestuous  ocean-levels  a  voice  whose 
sad,  mysterious  chords  aroused  within  the  dej^ths  of  the 
soul  sweet  memories  and  immeasurable  despair.  Occa- 
sionally a  soft  breeze  tossed  spray  into  their  faces  ;  the 
touch  of  it  made  them  shudder. 

Mishuief  remained  silent,  gazing  at  the  silver  streak 
of  moonlight.  He  felt  the  same  strange  depression  which 
always  overcame  him  when  confronted  with  the  inscrut- 
able mysteries  of  night,  making  him  oblivious  of  his 
surroundings.     Gloom,  and  a  great  void  seemed  all. 

"  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Theodore,"  said 
Maria  Sergeievna  in  trembling  tones,  for  she  feared  that 
he  might  be  angry  with  her  before  he  had  listened  to 
what  she  was  going  to  say. 

Mishuief  was  mute.  All  that  he  heard  was  the  sound 
of  the  waves  dashing  against  the  pier ;  all  that  he  saw 
was  the  white  line  of  foam  along  the  strand.  With  tears 
in  her  eyes  Maria  Sergeievna  rose,  as  she  nervously 
crumpled  up  her  handkerchief. 

"  It  is  intolerable,"  she  muttered,  trembling  as  much 
with  mortification  as  at  the  touch  of  the  cool  breeze. 
"  Why  do  you  vex  me  in  this  way  ?  " 

Without  looking  at  her,  Mishuief  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer  !  "  She  spoke  quickly 
now,  raising  her  voice  more  and  more.  "  You've  no 
right  to  despise  me  ...  no  right  to  vex  and  humiliate 
me.  If  I  couldn't  resist  your  millions,  as  you  say  I 
couldn't  ..." 

"  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort,"  replied  Mishuief 
gloomily,  his  gaze  still  riveted  on  the  sparkling  moonlit 
sea.  Maria  Sergeievna  paused,  feeling  utterly  perplexed 
and  crushed.  Convinced  though  she  was  that  he  had 
made  such  a  statement,  not  a  word  could  she  recall  to 
prove  this.  Feeble  and  helpless,  words  failed  her.  She 
seemed  hardly  to  know  why,  or  against  whom,  she  had 
to  defend  herself. 


16  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

"  Yes,  but  you  think  so  ...  I  know  you  do  .  .  . 
and  even  if  it  were  so  ...  it  was  you  yourself  that 
wanted  it  all  .  .  .  wanted  to  get  the  utmost  out  of  life 
...  all  for  my  sake  !  "  She  clasped  her  forehead  in 
despair.  "  Ah  !  and  what  a  price  I  have  paid  for  these 
millions  !  It  is  they  that  have  robbed  me  of  my  soul.  .  .  . 
What  am  I  now  but  the  vilest  of  creatures  .  .  .  anything  ! 
Either  ...  or  else  ...  or  else.  ...  As  you  please, 
but  I  can't  go  on  like  this  .  .  .  no,  I  can't."  Here  she 
became  confused  and  incoherent,  and  could  only  gaze 
dejectedly  at  the  gloomy  ocean,  as  her  hands  shook  and 
her  lip  quivered. 

"  If  that's  how  you  rate  yourself  ...  as  the  vilest 
of  creatures  .  .  .  what  position  am  I  to  take  up  towards 
you  ?  "  asked  Mishuief  suddenly,  his  glittering  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  the  waves. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Maria  Sergeievna,  with  a  start,  as  she 
dropped  her  bag  and  handkerchief,  which  fell  into  the 
sea.  Covering  her  face  with  both  hands  she  hurried 
away.  The  wind  at  once  caught  her  long  dress,  which 
caused  her  to  fold  it  more  closely  round  her,  and  her 
graceful  figure  resembled  an  apparition  as  it  swayed  in 
the  breeze.  Mishuief  watched  the  tiny  piece  of  white 
cambric  dance  for  a  moment  on  a  wave  and  then  dis- 
appear. Though  scarcely  conscious  of  it,  a  sudden 
tenderness  moved  him  to  follow,  and  soon  to  overtake 
her.  Her  pretty,  sloping  shoulders  were  bent,  showing 
the  graceful  curve  of  her  neck,  white  in  the  moonlight. 

At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  she  stopped  for  a  moment, 
still  covering  her  face  with  both  hands,  a  pathetic  figure 
in  her  large  white  hat. 

"  Come,  come  !  That  will  do.  Ma  .  .  .  russchka  !  " 
said  Mishuief,  as  he  fondly  called  her  by  her  pet  name, 
and  placed  his  arm  round  her  shoulder.  "  Do  forgive 
me  !     I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

He  expected  her  to  repulse  him,  and  in  a  fit  of  temper 
to  shake  herself  free.  It  was  her  coldness  that  he  feared, 
aware  that  then  he  would  be  utterly  forlorn.  But  she 
only  laid  her  head  on  his  breast  and  thrust  her  face  closer 
to  his  lips,  as  she  looked  up  at  him  appeahngly  through 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  17 

her  tears.  It  was  in  her  eyes  and  in  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  which  betrayed  a  mournful  smile,  that  Mishuief 
could  note  that  submissiv^e,  eager-to-be-forgiven  look 
that  puppies  and  children  have,  after  being  chastised 
and  then  caressed. 

In  a  moment  that  feeling,  pleasant  to  himself,  of  tender- 
ness and  pity  vanished,  as  if  it  had  never  existed,  leaving 
only  a  dull  sense  of  annoyance.  He  kissed  her  lips  coldly, 
moving  back  a  little  as  he  said  : 

"  Don't  be  always  so  peevish  ;  it's  really  becoming 
quite  monotonous.  What  is  it  that  you  want  ?  I  can't 
make  you  out  !  " 

After  a  pause,  he  added,  "  It  is  time  to  be  going  home." 

She  smiled  confusedly,  as  though  she  wanted  to  say : 
"  Do  forgive  me  .  .  .  perhaps  I  was  in  the  wrong.  I 
don't  know.  I  thought  that  you  didn't  care  for  me  .  .  . 
that  .  .  .  you  despised  me  .  .  .  and  oh  !  that's  so  hard 
to  bear." 

She  at  once  became  flurried,  and  in  silence  they  walked 
along  together,  leaving  behind  them  the  pallid  moon  and 
the  restless,  surging  sea.  Myriads  of  dancing  tones  now 
floated  forwards  to  meet  them,  yet  they  both  were  still 
conscious  of  an  estranging  influence. 

As  they  drove  home  Mishuief  was  thrilled  by  the  contact 
of  her  soft,  supple  body  beneath  its  luxurious  apparel ; 
he  noticed  her  exquisite  profile  en  silhouette,  the  head 
bowed  as  by  some  insupportable  burden,  and  he  asked 
himself  what  it  could  be  that  had  come  between  them  ; 
between  him,  the  man  who  for  so  many  years  had  adored 
her,  never  even  daring  to  dream  of  her  white  beauty  or 
the  ecstasy  of  her  kisses,  and  between  her,  the  charming, 
gracious  wife,  thoroughly  devoted  to  her  staid  husband, 
her  attitude  almost  that  of  an  elder  sister,  and  her  manner 
modest,  innocent  as  a  maid. 


B 


II 

In  brilliant  sunlight  the  shore  gleamed  like  gold.  Even 
the  sea  itself,  green  and  foam-flecked  near  the  land,  and 
blue  and  lilac  in  the  distance,  was  covered  with  a  golden 
glory.  Hah"  lost  in  the  haze  of  the  hills  one  could  perceive 
white  summer  villas  strewn,  like  toys  in  the  grass,  along 
their  verdant  slopes.  The  promenade  facing  the  sea 
was  gay  wath  its  usual  modish  throng  of  visitors  that 
swept  hke  a  stream  into  the  oval  Public  Gardens,  making 
it  impossible  to  account  for  so  vast  and  brilhant  an  array 
of  hats  and  gowns  and  smiling  faces.  The  crowd  seemed 
to  wax  larger  of  itself,  like  a  flower-bed  in  which  the 
blossoms  grow  apace,  A  confused  clamour  of  voices  and 
laughter  filled  the  air.  Blended  with  the  sound  of  break- 
ing waves  and  of  trampling  hoofs  it  became  at  last  as 
an  agreeable  music  to  the  ear.  Maria  Sergeievna  and 
Mishuief  were  driving  along  the  sea-front  in  one  of  the 
hght  Yalta  landaulettes.  Her  white  veil  fluttered  airily 
in  the  wind,  past  horses'  heads  and  majestic  coachmen, 
as  the  florid  procession  of  parasols  and  hats  dispersed. 
Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped  at  a  shop  where  dainty 
ladies'  hats,  like  amorous  birds  and  blossoms,  adorned 
the  window.  Maria  swiftly  alighted  and  entered  the 
dark  doorway  of  the  shop.  Slowly,  heavily,  Mishuief 
got  out  also,  and  followed  her.  Several  alert,  obsequious 
shop-assistants  at  once  darted  forward,  bowing  and 
smiling.  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  a  bland  and 
courteous  company  of  people  were  joyously  welcoming 
their  very  dear  friend.  In  a  trice  dozens  of  cardboard 
boxes  flew  open  as  if  by  magic,  disclosing  piles  of  white 
hats  trimmed  with  ribbons  of  all  colours,  red,  blue,  pink, 
yellow,  like  blossoms  lying  on  snow. 

Simple  httle  "  baby "  hats  were  then  exhibited,  as 
Maria  wished  to  choose  one  of  those,  thinking  that  in 
a  hat  of  this  sort  she  would  look  like  a  pretty,  petulant 
girl. 

The   shop-women   prattled   with   excessive   briskness, 

18 


THE   MILLIONAIRE  19 

while  the  male  assistants  talked  affectedly  in  order  to 
be  taken  for  Frenchmen,  and  all  the  while,  through  the 
open  door,  the  noise  of  the  streets  came  in,  and^the  rich 
sunhght.  Maria  Sergeievna  went  on  looking  and  choos- 
ing, pleased  as  a  child  with  ail  this  coloured  finery.  She 
moved  restlessly  to  and  fro  ;  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  she 
laughed  as  she  surveyed  herself  in  the  mirror,  standing 
sideways  in  order  to  get  a  view  of  her  profile.  And  as 
each  new  hat  with  its  bright  ribbon  was  placed  on  her 
dark  hair,  her  little  pink  face  seemed  prettier  and  more 
youthful. 

Meanwhile  Mishuief  sat  stolidly  at  the  comiter,  a  black 
spot  amid  all  this  noisy  crowd,  leaning  on  his  walking- 
stick  which  he  held  upright  in  his  ponderous  hands.  He 
looked  drowsy,  like  some  sick,  sleepless  man  who  sees 
nothing,  hears  nothing ;  neither  sunlight,  nor  laughter, 
nor  feminine  charm,  being  merely  conscious  of  a  subtle, 
resistless  force  that  slowly,  silently,  step  by  step,  was 
undermining  his  existence.  Sometimes  his  glance  rested 
on  Maria's  animated  features ;  then,  turning  away,  he 
stared  at  anything  near  him  ;  the  corner  of  tiie  counter, 
a  shopman's  varnished  boots,  or  the  angular  shoulder- 
blades  of  a  saleswoman  discernible  through  her  smart 
silk  blouse. 

"  Theodore,  just  look  here  a  moment.     I  shall  have 
this  one.     It  suits  me  rather  well,  eh  ?     Or  shall  I  ge 
that    one  ?      What    do    you    think  ?      Give    me    your 
advice." 

Thus  she  questioned  him,  while  unable  to  control  the 
nervous  tremor  that  her  voice  and  her  eyes  betrayed. 
She  had  recovered  her  wonted  good  spirits.  The  scene 
of  the  previous  evening  had  ended  in  a  passionate  recon- 
cihation.  In  fact,  she  had  almost  forgotten  it  in  all 
this  sunhght  and  bustle,  and  in  the  joy  of  spending  money 
recklessly.  Yet  now  Mishuief's  gloomy  face  was  going  to 
spoil  her  pleasure.  It  even  frightened  her.  It  reminded 
her  that  kisses  and  amorous  endearments,  if  they  delayed 
the  evil  that  had  entered  her  life,  could  never  undo  nor 
destroy  it. 

"  Is  it  never  going  to  end  ?  "  she  thought,    "  Are  we 


20  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

always  going  to  have  these  odious  scenes  that  make  life 
absolutely  unendurable  ?  " 

"  Come,  now,  which  one  shall  I  have  ?  Do  tell  me  ?  " 
she  asked  ;  and  again  there  was  that  strange,  pleading 
accent  in  her  voice,  as  if  asking  him  to  spare  her. 

"  Have  the  lot,"  replied  Mishuief  absently. 

She  laughed  ;  and  all  the  shop-assistants  laughed  with 
her.     One  of  them,  indeed,  burst  into  a  loud  guffaw. 

Mishuief,  frowning,  looked  annoyed.  The  laughing 
faces  instantly  grew  grave,  and  this  only  served  to  enrage 
him.  He  longed  to  shout  at  them ;  even  to  kick  and 
beat  them.  Words  of  mad  abuse  rose  to  his  lips,  but 
he  remained  silent,  glancing  downwards  as  if  helpless. 

"  What's  the  matter  w^ith  you  ?  Do  tell  me  what  to 
have  ;  now  do  !  "  exclaimed  Maria  Sergeievna  coaxingly. 
Mishuief  noticed  that  such  importunity  on  her  part  was 
designed  to  prevent  anyone  else  from  detecting  his  own 
indifference,  which  she  instinctively  dreaded.  This 
caused  in  him  a  feeling  of  compassion,  almost  of  kindliness, 
though  he  was  sadder  and  more  helpless  at  heart. 

"  Have  the  one  with  the  blue  ribbon.  It  suits  you 
best,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"  No,  really  ?  "  cried  Maria,  smiling  with  delight.  As 
she  raised  both  hands  to  her  head  he  caught  a  glimpse 
through  the  white  blouse  of  her  soft,  supple  shoulders. 
At  these,  one  of  the  shopmen,  who  wore  patent  leather 
boots  with  buttons,  cast  a  shy,  lustful  glance,  and  then 
his  eyes  suddenly  met  those  of  Mishuief.  In  a  moment  the 
expression  of  his  face  changed  to  one  of  servility  and  fear. 

"  Vermin  !  "  thought  3Iishuicf,  inwardly  furious,  as 
he  looked  at  the  fellow  full  in  the  face.  The  latter 
appeared  completely  crushed,  and  seemingly  grew  thinner 
and  smaller.  For  nearly  a  moment  this  mute  encounter 
lasted,  which  afforded  Mishuief  a  certain  morbid  satisfac- 
tion. He  noticed  that  the  man  wore  extremely  tight 
trousers  and  that  his  knees  shook. 

"  After  all,"  thought  Mishuief,  "  if  that  shopman  were 
in  my  place,  he'd  have  a  right  to  her,  and  to  others  of 
her  sort ;  whereas,  if  I  were  he,  I  should  have  to  steal 
glances  at  her,  hke  a  slave." 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  21 

He  turned  aside  in  disgust  as  he  thought  of  all  this 
grovelling  rabble,  and  this  woman,  wounded  but  yester- 
day by  a  sharp  word,  and  ready  to  drown  herself,  yet 
who  to-day  had  forgotten  everything  in  the  paltry  amuse- 
ment of  spending  money. 

"  Shall  you  soon  be  ready  ?  Do  let  us  go  !"  he  said, 
as  he  rose. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I'm  ready.  I  have  chosen  what  I  want," 
she  hastily  replied.  "  I'll  take  this  one.  .  .  .  No,  no, 
that  one,  with  the  light  blue  ribbon  !  "  As  she  gave 
these  hurried  directions,  she  looked  round  at  Mishuief, 
a  black  mass  against  the  bright  entrance. 

"  Let  us  take  a  turn  in  the  Park,"  she  said,  as  they 
came  out  into  the  sunlight,  the  pleasant  air  and  cheerful 
noise. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Mishuief  carelessly. 

After  dismissing  the  carriage,  they  had  already  crossed 
the  road  when  they  heard  a  voice  calling  out,  "  Feodor 
Ivanovitch,  wait  a  moment  !  " 

A  smart  motor-car  had  stopped  close  to  the  kerb,  in 
which,  like  a  bouquet  of  lace  and  blossoms,  three  ladies 
sat  with  a  smiling  gentleman  who  wore  spotlessly  white 
clothes  and  pale  yellow  gloves,  and  waved  his  hand  to 
them. 

"  Theodore,  some  one's  calling  you !  It  is  Parkho- 
menko,"  said  Maria  Sergeievna,  as  she  touched  Mishuief 's 
arm,  and  nodded  and  smiled  at  the  immaculate  owner 
of  the  car.  The  latter  quickly  alighted,  and,  flourishing 
his  hat,  advanced  to  greet  her. 

"  Maria  Sergeievna  !  As  enchanting  as  ever  !  I've 
been  looking  everywhere  for  you  !  " 

"  Really  ?  " 

She  laughed  coyly,  as  he  pressed  her  little  hand  to  his 
lips.  The  ladies  in  the  motor  bowed  and  smiled.  Parkho- 
menko,  beaming,  stood  in  everybody's  way,  while  passers- 
by  turned  to  look  at  the  shining  car.  It  seemed  to  Maria 
as  if  it  was  for  her  alone  that  all  the  town,  and  the  hills, 
and  the  flowers  had  assumed  such  a  radiant  aspect.  A 
consumptive-looking  priest  in  a  shabby  cassock  went 
wearily  past,  and  glanced  at  her  for  a  moment  with  his 


22  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

large,  bright,  melancholy  eyes  before  he  disappeared  in 
the  merry  crowd. 

Then,  as  a  young  man,  accompanied  by  two  ladies, 
passed  the  group,  he  whispered  hastily  to  his  companions, 
as  if  eager  to  give  them  most  important  news : 

"They're  Mishuief  and  Parkhomenko,  the  Moscow 
millionaires  !  " 

"Which  is  Mishuief?  Where  is  he?"  asked  the 
ladies  eagerly.  "The  one  next  to  the  lady.  That  big 
chap."  The  young  man  quickly  pointed  out  Mishuief, 
at  whom  they  gazed  inquisitively.  He  turned  his  back, 
but  Parkhomenko,  beaming,  observed  : 

"  There !  You  see,  everybody  knows  us,  Feodor 
Ivano\ntch  !  " 

"  Allow  me  to  pass,  please,"  said  a  voice,  and  in  the 
tone  of  it  Mishuief  could  detect  bitter  hate.  Looking 
round,  he  saw  a  fair  young  man  who  wore  a  blue  shirt 
under  his  shabby  jacket.  His  honest  eyes,  as  they  rested 
on  Parkhomenko,  expressed  mild  aversion. 

"  Do  let  one  pass,"  he  repeated. 

Scarcely  noticing  him,  Parkhomenko  stepped  aside. 

"  Maria  Sergeievna,"  he  said,  "  let  us  motor  over  to 
Sououk-Su  to-day.  We  did  it  yesterday  in  two  hours  ; 
there,  and  back.  Parole  dlionneur  !  Most  awfully  jolly, 
'pon  my  word  !  Simply  flew  !  We'll  have  supper  there, 
and  then  come  back,  eh  ?  Motoring  by  moonlight's 
perfectly  fascinating,  'pon  my  word  it  is  !  " 

Thus  he  ran  on,  excitedly,  brimming  with  joy  at  the 
fact  of  his  own  existence. 

Maria  gracefully  demurred  with  a  coquettish  shake 
of  her  new  hat,  which  indeed  gave  her  quite  a  girlish 
look. 

"  We  were  there  only  two  days  ago." 

"  Ah  !  but  to  motor  there  is  such  an  absolutely  different 
thing.  Away,  away,  over  hills  and  dales  !  You've  no 
idea  how  quickly  one  gets  over  the  ground.  It  feels  just 
like  flying  in  a  dream  !     'Pon  my  word  it  does  !  " 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  see,  later  on.  I'm  going  for  a 
walk  at  present.  Let  us  all  go.  The  sea  to-day  is 
perfectly  lovely." 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  23 

The  three  ladies  in  Parkhomenko's  car,  all  of  them 
blonde,  comely,  and  sensuous-looking,  got  out,  laughing, 
as  if  they  were  taking  part  in  a  game. 

"  I  say,  Feodor  Ivanovitch,  why  are  you  so  cross 
to-day  ? "  Parkhomenko  looked  the  very  picture  of 
happiness  as  he  asked  this. 

"  He's  always  like  that  now,"  said  Maria  Sergeievna, 
answering  for  Mishuief,  as  if  she  herself  were  to  blame, 
and  glancing  shyly  at  him. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  persuade  him  to  buy  a  motor-car. 
That  would  instantly  put  him  in  a  good  temper.  He'd 
be  another  man  !  " 

Parkhomenko  laughed  heartily. 

"  This  car  of  mine  is  a  cure  for  all  ills  !  'Pon  my  word, 
it  is  I     I'm  not  joking." 

The  four  ladies  walked  along  in  a  row,  exciting  universal 
attention.  Parkhomenko  trotted  beside  them,  and  his 
boisterous  hilarity  became  infectious  as  he  nearly  trod 
on  their  toes.  Mishuief,  heavy  of  step,  followed.  In 
passing  through  the  gaily  dressed  crowd  that  hummed 
like  a  swarm  of  bees  in  sunlight,  Mishuief  carefully 
scrutinized  all  the  faces  that  met  his,  as  if  he  would  read 
what  was  written  on  each. 

They  again  met  the  sickly  priest,  and  also  the  fair- 
haired  young  fellow  in  a  blue  shirt.  This  time  he  was 
accompanied  by  a  tall,  haggard  man,  whose  face  wore 
a  grave  expression.  Mishuief  recognized  him,  and  now 
remembered  who  his  companion  was.  The  grave-looking 
man  was  a  well-known  writer ;  the  other,  a  young 
consumptive  poet. 

The  author  glanced  coldly  at  the  merry  party,  and 
instantly  looked  away.  The  poet  then  said  something 
to  him  in  whose  voice,  as  in  the  angry  expression  of  the 
other's  eyes,  lay  malignant  scorn  for  Mishuief,  Parkho- 
menko, and  all  their  pretty,  pampered  dames. 

Faces,  rows  of  them,  went  by ;  ugly,  and  handsome, 
in  the  bright  sunlight,  or  the  shade  of  parasols  ;  a  Uving 
kaleidoscope  in  which  Mishuief,  as  was  his  wont,  took 
a  morbid  interest.  He  observed  how  the  unconcerned 
expression  in  the  eyes  of  those  he  met  suddenly  changed 


24  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

to  one  of  dull  curiosity  as  they  fastened  on  himself.  So 
used  was  he  to  the  monotony  of  all  this  that  at  last  the 
whole  crowd  appeared  to  have  only  one  dull,  flat  face, 
that  to  him  was  intensely  obnoxious. 

The  ladies  and  Parkhomenko  were  laughing  loudly  as 
Mishuief  followed  in  their  rear ;  and  beside  him  walked 
SoUtude,  his  inseparable  companion.  He  longed  to  get 
away  from  everybody  and  everything,  to  a  place  where 
there  was  neither  sunlight,  nor  human  beings,  nor  human 
noise.     If  he  could  but  stay  there,  alone,  and  undisturbed  ! 

Beaming  as  ever,  Parkhomenko  looked  round  and  made 
some  remark.  It  was  as  silly  and  pointless  as  any  other 
of  his  utterances,  but  designed  to  show  what  an  important 
person  he  was,  and  how  everything  he  said  must  obviously 
be  interesting. 

"  What  a  lucky  fool !  "  thought  Mishuief,  looking 
down  at  his  feet.  "  I  wish  I  were  such  an  utter  idiot 
as  he  is,  for  then,  like  him,  I  could  be  happy  with  my 
motor-cars,  my  millions,  and  my  mistresses — and  with 
all  those  parasites  who  pay  no  heed  to  my  real  personality, 
but  are  only  interested  in  what  surrounds  it ;  who  fear 
and  hate  me,  yet  who  stick  closely  to  me." 

"  Ah  !  here  comes  the  General !  "  cried  Parkhomenko. 
"  Come  along  with  us.  General !  Come  and  cheer  us 
up!" 

An  old  General  in  uniform,  with  a  shrivelled,  rosy  face, 
and  a  skinny  neck  that  his  trim  grey  whiskers  could  not 
hide,  ran  feebly  towards  them.  With  senile  gallantry 
he  proceeded  to  kiss  the  ladies'  hands,  smiling  effusively  ; 
and  one  could  see  from  his  manner  that  he  was  not  quite 
sure  of  his  reception. 

Parkhomenko  looked  as  pleased  as  if  some  one  had 
provided  him  with  a  funny  toy. 

"  Well,  General,"  he  said,  "  did  the  steamer  bring  us 
a  lot  of  pretty  women  yesterday  ?  I  expect  your  heart 
went  pit-a-pat,  eh  ?  "  r^ 

He  laughed  loudly,  pirouetting  in  front  of  the  ladies, 
who  had  sat  down  on  a  bench.  f/J'fefei^^ 

"  Do  you  know,  Maria  Sergeievna,"  he  continued, 
evidently  conscious  that  he  was  going  to  say  something 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  25 

extremely  witty,  "  the  General  goes  down  to  the  landing- 
stage  every  evening  in  order  to  waylay  any  fair  lady  who 
is  incautious  enough  to  entrust  herself  to  his  care.  He's 
a  regular  Don  Juan.  Ton  my  word  he  is  !  I'm  not 
joking  !  " 

"  Aha  !  General !  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  so 
dangerous  !  "  said  one  of  the  blonde  ladies  in  a  languishing 
voice. 

"  Oh  !  you've  no  idea  what  he  is  !  "  Parkhomenko 
almost  choked  with  laughing.  "  Every  evening  he  goes 
there.  Only,  I  must  say,  these  hard-hearted  dames 
treat  him  very  badly.  After  he  has  got  lodgings  for 
them,  looked  after  their  luggage  and  paid  the  cabman, 
they  elope  the  very  next  day  with  some  young  subaltern 
or  other,  and  the  poor  General  has  to  go  down  to  the 
steamboat  again.  Fact !  'Pon  my  word  !  I'm  not 
joking  !  " 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  exclaimed  the  buxom  blonde, 
affecting  intense  surprise. 

"  You're  always  inventing  something  or  other,  Pavel 
Alexeievitch,"  retorted  the  General,  blushing. 

"  Inventing,  indeed  !  I  like  that !  What  about  the 
little  schoolgirl  with  whom  you  were  caught  the  other 
day  at  Dschalita  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  was  my  daughter,  my  own  daughter, 
Niurotschka  !  Gad,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  The  General's 
face  grew  redder. 

"  Your  daughter  !  Aha  !  We  know  all  about  those 
'  daughters  '  !  " 

"  No,  really  !     She  was  my  daughter,  Niurotschka  !  " 

"  That  her  name  is  Niurotschka  I  quite  believe  ;  and 
also  that — "  Parkhomenko  paused  and  winked  know- 
ingly. Some  specially  subtle  joke  was  surely  coming. 
"  For  that  matter,  it  is  also  easy  to  believe  that  you  are 
now  only  capable  of  paternal  affection.  That  is  most 
probable  !  " 

The  ladies  laughed  and  looked  down,  and  the  General 
tittered,  too,  though  his  face  wore  a  slightly  pained 
expression,  as  though  some  offence  to  his  Niurotschka 
had  been  intended.     For  a  moment  he  was  inclined  to 


26  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

turn  on  his  heel  and  walk  away,  but  he  lacked  the  courage, 
and  could  only  stand  there  giggling  nervously. 

"  Dat's  astonishing  !  Dat's  astonishing  !  "  he  muttered, 
looking  helplessly  to  right  and  left. 

"  General,"  cried  Parkhomenko,  "  why  do  you  always 
say  '  dat '  instead  of  '  that '  ?  Is  it  because  you 
think  it  sounds  funnier  ?  Or  have  you  got  a  hollow 
tooth  ?  " 

"  Did  I  say  '  dat's  '  ?  "    The  General's  face  grew  red. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  did.  Now,  say  '  that '  !  Dis- 
tinctly, like  this  :  That !  " 

"  Dat's,"  repeated  the  General,  with  a  supreme  effort. 
Parkhomenko  spun  round  on  his  heels  with  delight.  The 
ladies  laughed  and  so  did  Maria,  as  she  turned  her  head 
aside,  showing  her  delicate  profile. 

"  General,  you're  a  born  comedian,  'pon  my  word 
you  are  !  "  cried  Parkhomenko,  shaking  with  laughter. 

The  poor  General  smiled  feebly. 

Maria  Sergeievna  felt  sorry  for  him,  as  now  some  of 
the  passers-by  were  looking  round  at  him.  To  show  her 
sympathy,  she  asked  after  his  health,  and  spoke  of  his 
daughter  whom,  but  a  few  minutes  ago,  she  had  seen  in 
the  company  of  her  other  merry  school-companions. 
The  old  man  was  obviously  touched.  He  smiled  now 
in  quite  a  different  way,  paying  court  to  her  after  the 
manner  of  some  old  cat  when  stroked.  Parkhomenko, 
however,  began  joking  again,  and  continued  to  tease 
him,  much  to  the  disgust  of  Mishuief,  who  pitied  the 
old  fellow  and  would  have  liked  to  take  his  part.  Yet 
not  a  word  could  he  utter. 

The  young  poet  and  his  older  friend,  the  author,  again 
passed.  Mishuief  heard  one  of  several  young  people 
sitting  near,  exclaim  : 

"  Look  !    Here  come  TchetjTiof  and  Marussin  !  " 

"  Where  ?    Where  ?  " 

Eager  glances  followed  the  bent  figures  of  the  two 
writers  as,  like  some  mournful  blot  on  the  bright  multi- 
tude, they  slowly  disappeared.  Then  Mishuief  overheard 
a  heated  discussion  on  the  part  of  the  young  people 
regarding  the  literary  merit  of  Tchetyriof. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  27 

It  was  as  if  this  encounter  were  to  blame  for  the  sudden 
fit  of  depression  which  seized  him.  Again  he  felt  an 
intense  longing  to  escape  from  his  surroundings  ;  to  find 
some  solitary  resting-place  where  he  should  see  nothing, 
hear  nothin  , 


Ill 

The  arrival  of  the  evening  steamer  was  signalled  across 
the  bay  by  lights  that,  mirrored  in  the  dark  water,  re- 
sembled garlands  of  bright  flowers.  From  this  side  of 
the  shore  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  human  beings, 
and  the  black  vessel  loomed  weirdly  in  the  dusk,  as  if  it 
were  some  huge  sea-monster  that  had  risen  from  the  deep. 
Yet  the  rattle  could  be  heard  of  carriages  arriving  at  the 
quay,  and  one  felt  that  the  gay  little  town  was  about  to 
be  invaded  by  a  fresh  throng  of  visitors  roused  to  activity 
as  their  tedious  journey  neared  its  end. 

It  was  on  that  day  that  Maria  Sergeievna  had  joined 
Parkhomenko's  party  in  their  trip  to  a  neighbouring 
watering-place,  and  Mishuief  went  out  walking  alone. 
He  sauntered  along  the  beach  so  as  to  get  away  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  Casino  and  its  gardens  that  were  always 
thronged  at  night-time.  For  a  long  time  he  had  not  felt 
so  happy  in  himself.  The  soft  twilight  and  the  gentle 
murmur  of  the  waves  were  attuned  to  his  present  medita- 
tive mood.  To  be  alone  was  what  he  desired,  and  to 
recall  memories  of  something  near  and  dear  to  him. 

Lost  in  his  thoughts  he  wandered  along  the  silent, 
lonely  shore,  and  faces  half-forgotten  rose  up  before  him 
as  izi  a  dream.  In  the  blue  dusk,  as  the  first  pale  stars 
trembled  overhead,  they  swam  before  him,  elusive  appari- 
tions that  yet  seemed  touched  with  life. 

Gradually  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  time  of  his 
return  from  abroad,  when  he  met  his  old  friend  and  Maria 
Sergeievna,  his  wife.  The  tour,  desultory  and  meaning- 
less, had  brought  only  disenchantment,  and  he  had  felt 
weary,  overwrought,  even  to  the  pitch  of  hatred  for  his 
fellowmen.  The  simplicity  of  their  menage,  to  which 
he  was  unaccustomed,  had  cheered  and  consoled  him ;  and 
he  was  soon  drawn  by  them  into  the  narrow  circle  of 
their  pleasant  home-life.  He  passed  many  days  and 
evenings  full  of  a  delightful  intimacy,  made  more  memor- 
able by  the  peculiar  charm  of  a  beautiful  woman's  society. 

28 


I 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  29 

Then  hidden  love  ensued — a  strange,  alluring  combination 
of  the  most  chaste  regard  and  shameless  desire.  Finally 
came  the  moment  when,  timidly  at  first,  she  responded  ; 
and  then,  all  that  seemed  impossible,  all  of  which  he  dared 
not  even  dream,  suddenly  occurred,  as  their  mutual 
passion  burst  into  flame.  Long  and  grievous  had  been 
the  conflict  between  conscience  and  fierce  physical  desire. 
Such  conflict  from  the  first  had  seemed  hopeless.  Then 
there  were  ecstatic  prospects  of  consummate  bliss,  as  on 
that  wondrous  evening  when  she  surrendered  to  him  her 
splendid  body,  unclothed  and  unashamed.  Yet,  if  there 
was  joy  in  all  this,  it  soon  was  lost  in  a  morass  of  falsehood 
and  deceit,  as  inevitably  they  built  up  an  infamous 
barrier  of  lies  and  treachery  between  themselves  and  the 
man  that  both  of  them  loved  and  respected.  Deeper  and 
ever  deeper  they  sank  in  the  mire,  until,  as  it  threatened 
to  engulf  them,  a  rupture,  short  and  sharp,  became 
inevitable. 

Mishuief  recollected  how  relieved  they  had  felt  when 
the  crisis  was  past  and  a  new  life  lay  before  them.  But 
the  past  had  left  its  sharp  sting  behind,  and  to  this  day 
it  rankled  in  the  wound.  When  the  first  vehemence  of 
their  passion  had  passed,  Mishuief  perceived  that  they 
had  made  a  terrible,  an  irreparable  mistake.  Maria's 
variable  moods,  and  the  grief  that  she  had  felt,  gradually 
caused  him  to  see  what  an  utterly  contemptible  part  he 
was  playing.  This  woman  was  in  love  with  her  husband, 
and  with  him  alone.  He,  Mishuief,  merely  remarkable 
on  account  of  his  wealth,  had  for  her  but  a  casual 
significance. 

Hitherto  her  Hfe  had  been  simple  and  frugal ;  now, 
quite  naively,  quite  innocently,  she  longed  for  pleasure 
and  display  ;   but  for  nothing  else. 

"  Of  what  good,  then,  was  it  to  ruin  the  lives  of  three 
human  beings  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  The  question 
horrified  him. 

"  Somewhere,  humiliated  and  forlorn,"  he  thought, 
"  there  is  a  man  living  alone  with  the  mystery  of  a  wrong 
that  can  never  be  righted  nor  forgotten.  A  young  wife 
has  been  snatched  away  from  everything,  like  a  toy  that 


30  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

is  flung  aside.  And  into  my  life  merely  another  woman 
has  come,  bought  like  the  rest  I  " 

The  brutal  truth  stung  him  like  a  whip ;  he  winced 
involuntarily. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  say  that  of  her  !  Perhaps  she 
sincerely  loves  me."  Thus  he  strove  to  stifle  the  dis- 
tressing thought,  yet  soon  he  felt  that  it  was  not  killed, 
but  had  only  crept  into  the  depths  of  his  inner  self. 

Mishuief  threw  back  his  head,  strenuously  endeavouring 
to  banish  these  memories  from  his  mind,  as  he  walked 
along  the  promenade  and  then  returned.  Meanwhile  it 
had  grown  darker ;  stars  shone  more  brightly  above  the 
hills,  and  the  murmuring  waves  seemed  falling  asleep. 

"  Oh  !  if  I  had  but  a  man  in  whom  to  trust  !  "  he 
suddenly  thought,  as  he  remembered  one  such  who  in 
bygone  days,  when  he  spent  money  in  lavish  style  and 
cherished  grandiose  schemes,  had  been  his  intimate 
friend.  Mishuief  longed  to  see  him  and  talk  to  him,  as 
in  the  dusk  the  masterful  personality  of  Nicolaief,  the 
famous  poet,  suddenly  seemed  to  appear. 

Carriages  in  one  continual  stream  now  rolled  towards 
him  from  the  landing-stage.  Hats,  cardboard-boxes,  and 
trunks  went  rapidly  past ;  and  faces  that  were  new  to 
him,  with  shining  eyes.  The  roadway  shook  with  the 
heavy  sound  of  wheels.  The  sight  moved  Mishuief  to 
disgust. 

What  crowds  of  people  there  are  !  Who  ever  gave  all 
these  their  place  in  the  world  ?  " 

By  degree  the  rattling  noise  of  the  droshkys  grew  less 
and  less.  Again  the  rhythmic  beat  of  waves  on  the  shore 
could  be  heard  as  plainly  now  as  if  one  were  standing 
beside  a  desolate  shore.  Once  more  Mishuief  walked  to 
the  end  of  the  promenade,  where  a  brilhantly  lighted 
caf6  stood,  which  was  crowded  with  boisterous  Turks  in 
their  red  fezes.  Then  mechanically  he  turned  home- 
wards. 

Near  the  public  gardens  he  met  promenaders  of  the 
usual  type ;  an  officer  with  a  lady  whose  sinuous  form, 
in  its  tightly  fitting  dress,  swayed  as  she  walked ;  and 
two  or  three  men  well-fed,  who  sauntered  along  with 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  81 

glowing  cigars  between  their  teeth.  Then  came  a  couple 
of  laughing,  chattering  girls  ;  and  suddenly  Mishuief  saw 
the  old  General  with  his  small  side-whiskers,  and  trousers 
having  an  enormous  red  stripe.  He  was  accompanied 
by  a  pretty  girl  whose  delicate  complexion  and  simple, 
conventional  school-dress  at  once  attracted  notice. 

When  the  General  saw  Mishuief  he  hurried  forward, 
bowing  and  smiling,  as  he  dragged  one  leg  awkwardly 
behind  the  other.  As  a  rule  he  seemed  shy  of  Mishuief, 
and  kept  aloof,  but  to-day  he  was  anxious  to  impress  his 
daughter  with  the  fact  that  he  knew  a  real,  live  millionaire. 
In  his  eyes  and  voice  there  was  a  certain  petty  pride  as  he 
said  with  excessive  cordiality : 

"  Ah  !  Feodor  Ivanovitch  !  We're  going  for  a  walk. 
What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Good  evening  !  "  said  Mishuief  with  a  certain  in- 
voluntary touch  of  hauteur,  as  he  carelessly  raised  his 
hat. 

"Allow  me  ...  to,  er  .  .  .  this  is  my  daughter, 
Niurotschka  !  "  faltered  the  General.  The  nervousness 
he  showed  was  not  due  to  meeting  Mishuief,  but  rather 
to  a  personal  feeling. 

Mishuief  held  a  little  trembling  hand  in  his.  The  child 
was  shaking  hke  an  aspen-leaf  as  she  raised  her  dark  eyes. 
When  Mishuief  smiled  at  her  she  also  smiled. 

Then  they  all  three  walked  along  together.  The 
General  began  talking  rapidly  about  nothing  in  particular, 
so  as  to  encourage  his  daughter  and  also  to  show  her  how 
friendly  he  was  with  this  millionaire.  At  first  he  became 
unaccountably  famihar,  and  after  some  wretched  joke 
he  almost  put  his  arm  round  Mishuief's  waist,  but  just 
managed  to  check  himself  in  time.  Such  incipient 
familiarity  met  with  scant  encouragement  from  Mishuief, 
whose  manner  perceptibly  cooled. 

The  girl  blushed  repeatedly,  and  did  not  look  at  him. 
He  could  only  see  a  little  ear,  a  soft  ringlet,  and  a  delicate 
oval  cheek.  She  stooped  when  walking,  as  if  she  were 
ashamed,  and  her  dainty  heels  scarcely  touched  the 
ground.  When  the  General  made  some  particularly 
fatuous  joke  she  bent  her  head  still  lower,  and  her  cheek 


32  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

reddened.  But  if  Mishuief  said  something  funny  to 
amuse  her,  she  suddenly  tossed  back  her  pretty  head 
and  laughed  loudly.  To  Mishuief  it  was  delightful  to 
see  her  laugh.  Indeed,  this  quaint  pair  pleased  him. 
To  him  it  seemed  droll  to  hear  them  address  each  other 
as  "  girlie  "  and  "  daddy  " — droll,  and  yet  charming. 
As  they  walked  through  the  gardens  in  the  glimmering 
dusk  Mishuief  felt  in  a  brighter  mood  than  for  a  long 
time  past.  He  talked  frankly  and  merrily,  first  of  his 
foreign  travels  and  then,  to  gain  the  girl's  confidence,  of 
his  grammar-school  days. 

"  So  you  went  to  a  grammar-school  ? "  asked  the 
General. 

"  Yes,  we  were  brought  up  very  simply,  and  at  that 
time  our  means  were  more  moderate." 

Mishuief  paused,  chuckling  at  the  recollection  of  his 
school-boy  life.  "  We  had  some  funny  teachers  at 
school." 

"  So  had  we,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  had '  ?  Are  you  not  still  at 
school  ?  "  he  asked  smiling.  He  liked  to  think  that  she 
could  now  count  as  a  "  grown  up." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  left  school  long  ago,"  replied  the  girl  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  Nonsense  !  '  Long  ago  ?  '  "  cried  the  General  gaily. 
"  Why,  it's  only  just  three  months." 

"  It  seems  to  me  ages  since  I  left,"  said  his  daughter. 

"  Does  it  ?  "  said  Mishuief,  feeling  a  sudden  wish  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  give  her  a  good,  honest  kiss. 

Looking  at  her  more  attentively  he  saw  that  she  was 
not  really  as  young  as  he  had  at  first  imagined.  He 
glanced  at  the  delicate  contour  of  her  bosom  and  at  her 
plump  arm  and  shoulder  close  to  his  own. 

"  Well,  what's  the  next  thing  ?  Go  to  a  High  School, 
eh  ?  "  he  asked  kindly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  rephed  Niurotschka  almost  inaudibly, 
as  she  looked  downwards. 

The  General  wheezed,  and  stroked  his  whiskers.  There 
was  a  momentary  pause.  Mishuief  felt  that  he  had 
touched  upon  a  sore  subject.     He  suddenly  pitied  them, 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  33 

and  it  was  pleasant  to  him  to  think  that  in  a  moment 
everything  could  be  set  right.  Yet  he  hesitated  to  broach 
the  subject ;  so,  to  create  a  diversion,  he  returned  to  his 
tales  of  school-boy  life. 

"  We  had  a  mathematical  master,  fat  and  pompous  as 
some  old  alderman.  During  the  lesson  he  used  to  walk 
up  and  down,  giving  us  the  benefit  of  his  worldly  wisdom. 
This  was  summed  up  in  a  single  phrase.  Yes  ;  as  he  used 
to  walk  through  the  class-room  twiddling  his  thumbs,  he 
gravely  drawled  out : 

"  '  There  are  phi-lo-sophers  ;  there  are  work-ers  ;  and 
there  are  favour-ites  of  for- tune  ! '" 

"  Aha  !  Feodor  Ivanovitch,  I  am  sure  that  he  called  you 
a  favourite  of  fortune,"  was  the  General's  flattering 
comment,  as  he  tripped  along  smiling. 

"  H-m  !     He  could  hardly  have  said  I  was  a  worker." 

"  Why   not   a   philosopher  ?  "    observed   Niurotschka 

slyly. 

Mishuief  laughed,  and  again  longed  to  give  her  a  sound- 
ing kiss.  Confused  once  more,  the  girl  looked  down.  Her 
whole  slim  little  figure  suggested  a  certain  mild  sadness. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  why  not  ?  "  was  Mishuief 's  hasty  reply. 
He  was  determined  to  cheer  her  up  if  he  could. 

"  We  had  a  geography  teacher  too  ;  tall  and  thin  as  a 
rail.  We  used  to  call  him  '  Stick  of  Macaroni.'  To 
explain  the  solar  system  we  all  had  to  play  different  parts. 
He  himself  used  to  represent  the  Sun  ;  I  was  usually  the 
Earth  ;  a  little  Jew  boy  the  Moon,  and  so  on.  The  Sun 
stood  on  tiptoe  in  the  middle  of  the  class-room  and 
turned  slowly  round  ;  the  Earth  ran  round  the  Sun  in  a 
circle,  and  the  Moon  simply  flew  round  the  Earth  as 
hard  as  ever  it  could.  At  first  it  was  all  right,  but  very 
soon  we  bumped  against  each  other,  and  then  a  world- 
catastrophe  ensued.  The  Moon  ran  into  the  Earth, 
Mars  hit  his  head  against  Jupiter's  stomach,  so  this 
majestic  planet  abruptly  sat  down  on  the  Sun,  producing 
universal  chaos  I  " 

Niurotschka  tossed  back  her  head  and  her  silvery  laugh 
was  a  joy  to  hear.  Mishuief  found  it  so  delightful  that  he 
continued  to  recount  all  sorts  of  nonsensical  tales,  just 

c 


34  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

as  they  came  into  his  head.  They  only  seemed  funny 
because  he  told  them  in  such  a  droll  way.  The  girl  now 
laughed  incessantly,  and  the  old  General  simply  wept 
with  merriment,  while  passers-by  looked  back  at  such 
a  noisy  trio. 

"  I  once  knew  a  deacon  at  Samara.  He  used  to  drink 
like  a  fish.  One  day  somebody  came  to  consult  him 
about  a  religious  matter.  The  deaconess  opened  the  door 
and  said  mysteriously: 

"  'The  Holy  Father  cannot  see  you.' 

"  'Why  not  ?     Is  he  full  of  the  Spirit  ?  ' 

"  'Yes,  yes,  quite  full." 

"  *0h!  indeed  I '  said  the  visitor  sympathetically,  and 
departed." 

"  Full  of  the  Spirit !  "  Niurotschka  burst  out  laughing  ; 
and,  as  she  looked  Mishuief  straight  in  the  face,  her  eyes 
seemed  to  say  that  she  hoped  he  would  cap  that  story  with 
one  much  more  absurd. 

The  General,  however,  shambled  along  behind  them 
and  said  nothing.  All  at  once  he  had  become  taciturn, 
and  looked  depressed.  Mishuief's  unexpected  gaiety  and 
frankness  almost  alarmed  him.  The  fear  within  him 
was,  so  far,  vague,  indefinite  ;  merely  shy,  helpless,  bird- 
like fear  for  his  pure,  sweet  child. 

"  For  rich  fellows  like  this  one,"  he  thought,  "  why, 
it  would  be  a  mere  nothing  !  " 

The  conception  of  what  Mishuief  might  be  willing  to 
arrange  with  regard  to  his  little  daughter  became  gradually 
clearer,  yet  the  thought  was  one  too  horrible  to  harbour. 

"  Niurotschka !  It's  time  to  go  home !  "  he  said  awk- 
wardly. 

"  It's  not  late,  Daddy." 

The  General  in  confusion  muttered  something  to  him- 
self. His  little  face  flushed  ;  his  eyes  had  a  vacant,  dazed 
look.  When  Mishuief  observed  this,  he  instinctively 
divined  what  was  in  the  other's  inmost  thoughts.  Some- 
thing of  the  old  bitterness  surged  up  within  him,  and  then, 
like  a  flash,  came  the  suggestion  :  "  Give  them  money 
and  send  her  to  the  High  School."  In  an  instant  an 
image  of  this  girl  in  her  virginal  innocence  rose  up  before 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  35 

him,  ripe  and  trembling,  in  the  supreme  moment  of 
initiation  and  surrender.  The  vision  smote  his  brain  Hke 
a  hot  wave. 

The  girl  looked  up  and  made  some  remark. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Mishuief,  recovering  himself.  Eager 
to  allay  the  General's  secret  anxiety,  of  which  instinctively 
he  was  aware,  Mishuief  endeavoured  to  show  him  how 
just  and  friendly  and  straightforward  he  was. 

"  He's  every  right  to  be  afraid  of  me,"  he  thought. 
"  But  I  don't  see  that  it's  my  fault,  either.  Anybody 
else  in  my  place  would  do  just  the  same.  Who  could 
help  it  ?  " 

Again  the  fleshly  thought  assailed  him,  and  though, 
by  an  effort  he  put  it  aside,  he  was  sadly  conscious  of 
fighting  against  a  force  that  he  could  never  resist. 

"  How  lucky  you  are  !  "  cried  Niurotschka,  naively, 
after  he  had  recounted  other  incidents  of  his  past  life. 
"  You  can  travel  everywhere  and  see  everything.  This 
is  our  first  visit  to  Yalta,  and  to  us  it's  like  being  in 
Paradise." 

"  There's  no  particular  luck  in  that,"  replied  Mishuief. 
"  One  can  live  anywhere.  There  are  folk  living  at  the 
North  Pole,  or  at  Kamskatka,  in  the  Sahara  Desert,  or 
the  Pinski  marshes  ;  and  those  who  live  there,  even  those 
can  manage  to  invest  life  with  a  certain  poetry.  One 
can  live  without  palms,  without  warmth,  without  vast 
cities.  Such  things  don't  really  signify.  Only  one  thing 
there  is  that  man  cannot  do  without — his  fellow- 
creatures.  In  solitude  man  becomes  dull  and  weak  and 
useless." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  think  that  I  could  even  live  in  a  desert, 
if  there  were  flowers  there,  and  birds,  and  the  sea " 

"  Yes,  very  likely,"  said  Mishuief  with  a  smile,  "  but 
human  beings  like  ourselves  are  endowed  with  complex 
and  profound  feelings.  That  these  feelings  may  thrive, 
it  is  necessary  that  our  surroundings  should  be  equally 
complex  and  sensitive.  Trees,  and  sky,  and  sea  cannot 
alone  suffice  to  appease  the  human  soul.  Though  we 
may  travel  much,  and  view  many  sights " 

"  Yes,  but  you  can  always  be  surrounded  by  as  many 


36  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

people  as  you  like.     You  are  able  to  do  so  much  good," 
said  Niurotschka  timidly. 

Mishuief's  face  changed.     It  wore  a  hard,  cynical  look. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said  bitterly,  "  good  !  But  if  people  only 
come  to  you  because  of  that  good.  ..." 

"  Oh  1  but  everybody  wouldn't  ?  "  rejoined  Niurotschka 
sympathetically. 

Mishuief  was  silent.  He  was  annoyed  with  himself 
at  having  let  a  girl  see  what  was  in  his  mind ;  but,  after 
a  pause,  he  said : 

"  Perhaps  everybody  wouldn't,  yet,  as  most  of  them 
only  come  to  get  money,  one  is  apt  to  disbelieve  in  the 
sincerity  of  anybody's  motives,  and  to  suspect  them. 
It  even  makes  one  feel  inclined  to  be  brutal." 

Mishuief's  voice  trembled,  and  he  bit  his  lip.  If  for 
a  moment  he  had  felt  kindl}^  disposed,  his  calmer  reason 
now  prevailed.  After  all,  this  retired  General  and  his 
school-girl  daughter,  who  were  they  ?  Persons  of  no 
importance,  to  be  bought  with  a  price.  He  regretted  this 
glimpse  that  he  had  given  them  of  his  inner  self.  So  he 
abruptly  turned  the  subject,  and  began  to  talk  of  trivial 
matters.  His  change  of  mood  did  not  pass  unnoticed  by 
Niurotschka.  Even  her  father  had  perceived  it ;  and 
he  made  ineffectual  attempts  to  enliven  the  conversation. 

When  they  had  reached  the  end  of  the  Promenade  a 
painful  weariness  oppressed  them  ;  they  felt  that  it  was 
time  to  separate.  \Vitless  and  irresolute,  the  old  General 
could  not  bring  himself  to  go,  but  shuffled  along,  babbling 
meanwhile  of  the  weather,  the  sea,  and  Yalta  life.  With- 
out looking  up,  Mishuief  occasionally  answered : 

"  Oh  !  yes,  quite  so  !  .  .  ." 

"  You  see,  Feodor  Ivanovitch  .  .  ."  began  the  General, 
"you  see — "  His  daughter  just  then  pulled  his  coat- 
sleeve  and  said  firmly : 

"  Daddy,  it  is  time  to  go  home.     I  am  getting  cold." 

"  Yes,  yes,  girlie,  we'll  go  at  once,"  replied  her  father. 

*'  Good-bye,  Feodor  Ivanovitch  !  au  revoir  J  " 

Still  he  lingered,  after  much  shaking  of  hands,  as  if  he 
felt  that  there  had  been  an  omission  of  some  kind.  Pale 
and  silent,  Niurotschka  could  only  wait.     She  felt  sorry 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  37 

for  them  all — sorry,  too,  that  this  bright,  pleasant  little 
episode  had  come  to  an  end.  Indeed,  she  could  hardly 
keep  back  her  tears.  As  they  were  going,  however,  she 
laughed  at  some  final  betise  of  her  father's,  and  then  said 
clearly,  and  with  feeling : 

"  Feodor  Ivanovitch,  we  should  be  so  pleased  if  you 
would  come  and  see  us." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  replied  Mishuicf  coolly. 

Niurotschka  blushed,  looking  sad  and  perplexed. 

All  the  way  home  she  was  silent,  listening  to  the  grating 
sound  of  the  gravel  under  her  feet.  To  her  it  was  as  if 
happiness  of  some  kind  had  come  to  an  end,  and  for 
Mishuief  her  sympathy  now  increased. 


IV 

Slowly,  languidly,  Mishuief  walked  on,  till  he  reached 
the  end  of  the  esplanade.  Then  he  stopped  and  turned 
back.  Words  would  have  failed  him  to  express  all  that 
was  then  passing  through  his  mind.  To  no  human  being 
could  the  thoughts  that  troubled  him  have  been  told. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  sound  of  his  heavy  footsteps 
echoed  not  only  on  the  broad  quay  but  likewise  on  the 
roadway  of  his  life,  recording,  though  for  no  reason,  his 
advance  along  a  dead,  useless  path. 

"It  is  time  to  die  !  "  thought  Mishuief,  with  a  grim 
smile. 

In  a  moment  he  felt  light  of  heart.  It  was  as  if  this 
thought  had  dispelled  the  gloom  that  oppressed  him,  for 
now  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  a  vast  illimitable 
void.  It  was  this  spiritual  sense  of  boundless  space  that 
for  a  moment  affected  the  physical  part  of  him,  detaching 
him  from  Mishuief,  the  dull,  sad,  worn-out  man.  Yet 
it  lasted  but  an  instant,  vanishing  like  a  spark  in  the 
gloom.  A  sudden  impulse  seized  him  to  fling  himself, 
sobbing,  upon  the  ground,  and  lie  there,  face  downwards. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  Am  I  ill  ?  "  he  asked 
himself  in  despair.  "  I  possess  all  that  any  man  needs — 
far  more,  indeed.  To  have  even  a  hundredth  part  of  what 
is  mine  is  the  fondly  cherished  dream  of  many  of  my 
contemporaries.  What  is  it  that  I  need  ?  I,  who  have 
everything  ?  "  Vividly  there  passed  before  his  mental 
sight  a  pageant  of  beautiful  women,  shining  lakes  and 
cities,  pictures,  theatres,  horses,  motor-cars — an  entire 
world,  full  of  light  and  colour,  of  movement  and  luxury. 
Then  the  vision  faded,  and  seemed  like  tinsel  that  had  lost 
its  glitter. 

"  Not  that !  Oh  !  no,  not  that !  .  .  .  Then,  what  is 
it?" 

Thus  he  vaguely  questioned  his  inmost  self,  as  he  walked 
along  once  more  to  the  end  of  the  esplanade.  As  he 
turned  round  again  the  brilliantly  lighted  windows  of  a 

88 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  39 

cafe  opposite  attraeted  his  notice,  and  he  crossed  the 
road. 

"  I  feel  rather  slack,"  he  thought.  "  Perhaps  a  drink 
may  do  me  good." 

Directly  he  had  opened  the  heavy  door  and  the  porter 
had  helped  him  to  remove  his  overcoat,  a  confused  sound 
of  voices,  laughter,  and  jingling  glasses  greeted  his  ear 
from  all  sides.  The  noise  was  almost  deafening  after  the 
silence  of  the  night.  He  was  instantly  recognized.  Here 
and  there  amid  the  racket  his  name  was  to  be  heard, 
mentioned  hurriedly,  almost  as  a  caution.  Feminine 
glances  were  eagerly  levelled  at  him  as  he  lounged  up 
the  room  between  rows  of  tables.  Near  the  buffet  he  was 
hailed  by  an  acquaintance  of  his.  It  was  Opaloff,  an 
author  from  Moscow. 

"  Feodor  Ivanovitch  !  "  he  exclaimed,  rising  hastily, 
with  evident  pleasure.  He  had  delicate  features  and 
small  eyes  like  those  of  a  Japanese  doll. 

"  Feodor  Ivanovitch  !  Come  and  sit  next  to  us  !  "  he 
said,  smihng  genially.     "  Waiter,  bring  us  a  chair  !  " 

Three  men  were  seated  at  the  table  :  the  two  writers 
whom  Mishuief  had  met  that  morning  and  a  bloated, 
bald,  somewhat  unsavoury-looking  person  in  extremely 
tight  linen  trousers  and  a  waistcoat  of  a  truly  outrageous 
type. 

"  I  don't  think  you  know  each  other,"  said  Opaloff,  as 
the  others  all  bowed  slightly  to  Mishuief. 

"Tchetyriof  .  .  .  Marussin  .  .  .  Podgurski.  .  .  ." 

"  Ex-author,"  added  the  bloated  individual,  in  a  tom- 
fool's voice  which,  however,  might  have  been  his  usual 
one. 

Mishuief  briefly  stated  his  name,  a  form  of  introduc- 
tion that  to  him  was  always  distasteful,  for  it  seemed 
childish  to  repeat  a  name  that  every  one  already  knew. 
In  this  case  it  was  unavoidable,  yet  none  the  less 
annoying. 

"  Every  one  knows  who  you  are,  Feodor  Ivanovitch," 
laughed  Opaloff,  and  one  could  hardly  tell  if  the  words  were 
spoken  good-humouredly  or  in  irony. 

Mishuicf's  only  answer  was  a  faint  smile.    Even  this 


40  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

vexed  him,  as  he  feared  that  it  might  seem  to  acknowledge 
or  deny  the  fact  that  everybody  knew  him. 

The  waiter  hastily  brought  a  chair,  when  Mishuief 
sat  down,  leaning  his  massive  arms  on  the  table  and  glanc- 
ing at  the  adjoining  one  where  three  portly  ladies  in  fine 
attire  sat  with  a  couple  of  smart  young  officers.  There 
was  a  moment  of  painful  silence.  Opaloff  stared  at 
Mishuief  with  kindly  curiosity,  much  as  if  a  Polar  bear 
had  suddenly  sat  down  next  to  him.  Podgurski,  who 
looked  like  a  bundle  of  soiled  linen  in  his  tight  trousers 
and  sail-cloth  jacket,  also  fixed  his  mean  little  eyes  upon 
the  newcomer.  They  had  in  them  a  look  of  impudence  and 
greed.  Tchetyriof  and  Marussin  drank  their  beer  in 
silence,  and  appeared  not  to  notice  Mishuief.  The 
latter  observed  that  Marussin's  feeble,  slender  hands 
trembled  continually  and  he  recollected  having  heard  that 
he  was  consumptive.  He  remarked  the  strange  trans- 
parent look  in  his  eyes,  resembling  the  soft  light  in  an 
April  sky.  Perhaps,  so  Mishuief  thought,  he  might  be 
a  most  unhappy  man,  yet  good  and  true.  He  began  to 
feel  genuine  pity  for  him. 

Louder  and  louder  grew  the  din  in  the  cafe,  as  laughter, 
shouts,  and  the  rattle  of  glasses  were  heard  above  the 
hum  of  voices.  Sometimes  a  chair  fell  down  with  a  crash, 
or  a  teaspoon  was  heard  tapping  impatiently  against 
the  rim  of  a  glass,  amid  peals  of  shrill  feminine  laughter. 
Waiters  with  napkins  hurried  past.  The  light  sparkled 
on  glass  and  coloured  bottles,  as  on  the  splendid  jewellery 
that  adorned  soft  necks  and  bosoms.  Alone  through  the 
broad  windows  the  dark  night,  unmoved,  looked  on. 

"  Why  are  you  all  alone  ?  Where  is  Maria  Serge- 
ievna  ?  "  asked  Opaloff,  and  from  the  tone  of  his  voice  one 
could  perceive  that  her  name  suggested  to  him  an  ideal 
instance  of  feminine  frailty. 

Mishuief  knew  that  for  all  men  Maria  Sergeievna  had 
a  charm  both  potent  and  disquieting  and  that,  when  they 
alluded  to  her,  it  was  with  a  certain  subtlety  of  tone. 
At  one  time  it  flattered  him  to  note  how  fruitlessly  all 
men  were  excited  by  this  woman.  Yet  what  latterly 
galled  him  was  the  thought  that  they  had  only  begun  to 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  41 

speak  of  her  as  they  did  after  her  intimacy  with  him  had 
become  an  open  secret.  She  had  been  just  as  beautiful 
before,  though  at  that  time  purity  constituted  her  special 
charm.  Now,  by  his  touch,  that  purity  was  sulhed,  and 
she  stood  unmasked  before  men,  a  degraded  creature  to 
whom  all  could  have  access. 

"  She  has  gone  to  Semeid,"  replied  Mishuief  curtly. 

"  Ah  !  Then  I  must  have  met  them  !  With  Parkho- 
menko,  I  think  ?  " 

Opaloff  appeared  delighted,  and  Mishuief  at  once  divined 
the  reason  for  this.  Opaloff,  so  he  thought,  must  have 
felt  certain  that  sooner  or  later  Maria  would  pass  into 
Parkhomenko's  keeping.  Now  he  was  more  than  ever 
convinced  that  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  transfer, 
as  her  lover  Mishuief  figured  at  present  on  the  retired 
list. 

"  That  is  what  he  imagines,"  thought  Mishuief. 

"  Was  that  Parkhomenko  ?  "  asked  Podgurski  sud- 
denly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  was  he,"  replied  Opaloff,  as  his  Japanese 
eyes  tAvinlded. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  continued  Podgurski.  "  I 
wish  that  you  would  introduce  me  to  him.  I  want  to  see 
him  about  a  business  matter." 

"  Want  to  borrow  a  bit,  probably !  On  the  non-repay- 
ment system,  eh  ?  "  asked  Opaloff  with  a  laugh. 

"  What  if  I  do  ?     Do  you  think  he  wouldn't  part  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  that  he  wouldn't,"  said  Mishuief. 

"  Well,  what  about  you  ?  Would  you  fork  out  any- 
thing ?  "  asked  Podgurski,  turning  suddenly  to  Mishuief. 

There  was  something  so  frankly  impudent  in  the 
speaker's  tone  that  Mishuief  for  a  while  remained  silent. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  smile. 

"  All  right,  then,  please  give  me  twenty-five  roubles, 
will  you  ?  "  Mishuief  looked  gravely  into  Podgurski's 
eyes,  and  after  a  moment's  reflection  he  smiled  again, 
and  handed  him  a  twenty-five  rouble  note  across  the 
table. 

The  genuine  quality  of  such  insolence  was  what  pleased 
him.     Podgurski  had  hardly  expected  to  get  anything, 


42  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

had  indeed  displayed  no  special  eagerness,  but,  on 
seeing  the  money,  his  eyes  glistened.  Taking  the  note, 
he  calmly  thrust  it  into  one  of  the  pockets  of  his  greasy 
waistcoat,  saying  ; 

"  Thanks  !  " 

Mishuief  noticed  how  the  gentle-eyed  Marussin  strove 
to  repress  a  smile  as  he  glanced  furtively  at  Podgurski 
for  an  instant.  His  companion,  Tchetyriof,  affected  to 
see  nothing,  but  looked  away  across  the  room. 

"  Well,  you're  a  cheeky  fellow,  'pon  my  word  !  " 
exclaimed  Opaloff.  From  the  look  in  his  eyes  one  could 
see  that  he  also  had  thought  of  borrowing  money  from 
Mishuief,  but,  alas,  too  late. 

"  Damned  if  I  care  !  "  replied  Podgurski  unabashed. 
"  I'm  a  cheeky  fellow,  and  you're  a  journalist,  and  he's 
a  millionaire  ;  but  which  of  us  is  the  worst  off,  I'm  hanged 
if  I  can  tell !  " 

At  this  the  others  all  laughed  ;  even  the  sullen  Tchetyr- 
iof smiled,  at  which  Mishuief  was  surprised. 

"  I  say,  do  you  know  what  ?  "  continued  Podgurski, 
as  if  about  to  impart  some  delightful  news,  "  I  vote  you 
stand  us  all  a  champagne  supper,  eh  ?     Will  you  ?  " 

Mishuief  shrugged  his  huge  shoulders.  This  sly  youth 
and  his  barefaced  method  of  fleecing  an  absolute  stranger 
amused  him. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  ;  "  only  you  must  order  everything 
yourself." 

"Good!  Capital!"  cried  Podgurski.  "Waiter!" 
he  yelled,  never  caring  that  his  behaviour  caused  every  one 
to  look  round.  The  manager  came  forward,  a  lean  old 
man,  with  grey  whiskers,  who  had  long  kept  near  Mis- 
huief, like  some  hound  lying  in  wait.  He  tripped  along, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  smiling  blandly.  Podgurski  at  once 
proceeded  to  order  supper,  just  as  if  all  his  life  he  had 
been  used  to  the  costliest  food.  Mishuief  watched  him 
in  astonishment.  Deft  as  a  conjuror,  Podgurski,  while 
giving  elaborate  directions  as  to  the  cooking,  noticed  this 
and  said,  "  My  tastes  are  those  of  a  milhonaire,  as  you 
see  !  You  think  that  you're  the  only  person  that  knows 
how  to  eat  and  drink  !  " 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  43 

"  And  do  you  know,  then,  what  millionaires  think  ?  " 
asked  Mishuief  with  unconscious  hauteur. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  know  everything.  When  I  was 
a  famous  author " 

At  this  the  others  laughed,  but  Podgurski  paid  no 
attention.  "  I've  come  across  milhonaires,  just  as  I've 
met  other  chaps.  I  can  see  through  them,  too,  right 
through  them,  like  a  glass  of  vodka." 

Champagne  was  brought.  With  it  came  an  odour  of 
ice,  and  a  sense  of  coolness,  as  if  the  doors  of  a  cellar  had 
been  opened.  Stroking  his  luxuriant  whiskers,  the  old 
manager  strove  as  far  as  possible  to  comply  with  Pod- 
gurski's  unreasonable  demands. 

The  latter  grew  intensely  excited ;  his  scanty  hair 
seemed  to  stand  on  end  ;  his  bold,  greedy  eyes  shone, 
and  the  absurd  waistcoat  looked  even  more  grotesque. 
As  he  joked,  and  drank,  and  shouted,  it  was  evident  that, 
if  not  exactly  happy,  Podgurski  was  at  any  rate  enjoying 
an  excellent  meal.  Mishuief  watched  him,  intensely 
amused  to  see  that  this  fine  gentleman  cared  not  a  jot  for 
millionaires,  or  for  men-of-letters,  or  anything  else  in  the 
whole  world.  He  had  got  his  champagne,  his  cigars, 
and  his  jokes  ;  nothing  else  was  of  importance  to  him 
except  his  own  personal  wants. 

Tchetyriof  and  Marussin  ate  but  little,  and  drank 
nothing  at  all.  Nor  did  they  speak,  except  to  exchange 
a  word  or  two  with  each  other,  listening  attentively,  as 
artists  would,  to  all  that  was  going  on.  It  was  obviously 
their  intention  to  ignore  Mishuief  altogether,  and  this 
distressed  him.  Opaloff,  on  the  other  hand,  was  extremely 
obsequious,  and  all  the  while  did  his  utmost  to  engage  him 
in  conversation.  His  jokes  and  desultory  remarks  were 
all  made  with  a  wish  to  please  the  milUonaire. 

At  an  adjoining  table  sat  a  robust  lady  in  a  remarkably 
smart  decollete  gown. 

"Have  you  ever  noticed,  Feodor  Ivanovitch,"  said 
Opaloff,  "  how  a  woman's  skin  in  artificial  fight,  such  as 
that  of  a  restaurant,  always  looks  wet  ?  " 

"  Wrong  again  !  "  broke  in  Podgurski,  who  had  noticed 
Opaloff's  furtive  attempts  to    please,  and  now  sought 


44  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

to  make  him  look  ridiculous.  "  Restaurant  light  has  got 
nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  Oh  !  but  it  has  ;  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  The  light  in 
restaurants  is  always  saturated  with  moisture." 

"  It  is  simply  perspiration,"  said  Podgurski  with 
authority.  "  But  one  thing's  certain  :  wherever  there's 
a  lot  of  women  there's  a  smell  of  scent,  and  powder,  and 
stale  flesh." 

"  Oh  !     Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Mishuief  smiling. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  you  may  be  right,"  said  Tchetyi'iof. 

The  lady  at  the  next  table  now  got  up,  letting  her 
feather  boa  fall.  The  view  of  her  exuberant  figure  was 
not  missed  by  Opaloff,  who  said  to  Podgurski,  while  looking 
at  Mishuief,  "  I'll  tell  you  something  else.  When  a 
woman  suddenly  drops  a  feather  boa  her  whole  back 
for  a  moment  seems  to  be  stark  naked." 

"  Not  so  bad  !  "  said  Podgurski  in  a  tone  of  approval. 
"  You  ought  to  tell  that  to  Parkhomenko.  I  dare  say  he 
would  pay  you  for  a  thing  of  that  sort." 

"  I  think  you  said  just  now  that  you  didn't  know 
Parkhomenko,"  observed  Marussin,  looking  embarrassed. 

"  Did  I  ?  Very  likely.  If  so,  I  simply  told  a  lie," 
rejoined  Podgurski  coolly. 

Marussin's  confusion  became  so  apparent  that  it  w^as 
as  if  he,  and  not  Podgurski,  had  been  caught  telling  a  lie. 
Mishuief 's  kindly  feeling  for  him  increased  and  he  thought 
what  a  good  fellow  he  was. 

"  Oh !  I've  known  Parkhomenko  for  ever  so  long ; 
knew  him  in  Moscow,"  continued  Podgurski.  "  Nobody 
knows  him  better  than  myself.     I've  got  him — here  !  " 

So  saying,  Podgurski  held  out  his  broad,  greasy  hand. 
The  movement  of  it,  with  its  stumpy  fingers  and  dirty 
nails,  expressed  such  tenacity  and  greed  that  they  all 
involuntarily  looked  at  it.  Even  Mishuief  felt  almost 
afraid. 

"  While  old  Parkhomenko  was  ahve  he  used  to  be  very 
strict  with  his  son.  He  often  beat  him  and  always  kept 
him  short.  He  would  tap  on  the  counter  with  a  couple 
of  twenty-copeck  pieces,  and  say,  '  Take  this,  and  be  o:K ! ' 
So  at  that  time  Pashka  was  always  trying  to  raise  money 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  45 

— with  forged  bills,  of  course — and  that's  how  I  happened 
to  run  across  him.  Ah  !  I  could  tell  you  a  lot  about  some 
of  his  little  tricks !  One  little  bit  of  paper  is  all  I  want ; 
just  one ;  and  then  I'll  bleed  him  till  he  squeals  like 
a  pig  !  " 

"  Is  that  really  necessary  ?  "  asked  Marussin,  blinking 
his  eyes  in  a  vain  effort  to  avoid  looking  at  the  speaker. 

"  Ah  !  Nicolai  Nicolaievitch,  you  don't  know  the  chap 
as  I  do  !  He's  the  vilest  of  the  vile  !  A  reptile  full 
of  venom  !  Whoever  sets  his  heel  on  it  deserves  to  have 
forty  sins  forgiven  him.  Baser  than  three  kings  and  four 
archbishops  put  together  1  And  cruel !  My  word  !  He 
had  read  somewhere  that  out  in  Africa  the  officers  used  to 
nail  nigger  women  to  boards  and  then  shoot  at  them  with 
their  revolvers  for  a  wager.  Well,  what  do  you  think  ? 
His  one  idea  is  to  imitate  them,  and  crucify  a  woman  ! 
And  some  day  he'll  do  it,  too  !  When  his  father  lay  dying 
and  was  unable  to  utter  a  word,  this  Pashka  Parkho- 
menko  burst  into  the  bedroom  and  seized  the  old  man  by 
the  beard : 

"  '  Vulture  ! '  he  cried,  '  this  is  the  reward  for  your  life 
of  theft.' 

"  And  when  he  came  into  his  fortune  he  was  fifty  times 
worse  than  the  old  boy.  And  isn't  he  mean  ?  Dirty 
beast !  Millionaires  only  exist  in  order  that  other  folk 
may  drink  champagne  at  their  expense,  but  this  brute's 
not  even  good  for  a  bottle  of  fizz  !  " 

"  Then  you  think  that  millionaires  are  not  good  for 
anything  else  ?  "  asked  Tchetyriof,  apparently  in  jest, 
though  every  one,  including  Mishuief,  at  once  felt  that  it 
was  a  hit  at  him. 

"  Of  course  I  do,  damn  it  all !  "  replied  Podgurski,  who 
had  grasped  the  other's  meaning  and  evidently  wanted  to 
provoke  a  scene. 

Here  Opaloff  interposed. 

"  And  what  is  your  opinion  of  Parkhomenko  ?  "  he 
said,  turning  to  Mishuief. 

For  a  moment  the  latter  did  not  reply.  The  unmis- 
takable hatred  in  Tchetyriof's  voice  pained  him,  saddened 
him;  for  Tchetyriof,  the  poet,  he  both  liked  and  esteemed, 


46  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

It  was  depressing  to  feel  suddenly  helpless  and  surrounded 
by  enemies. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  as  he  gazed  downwards 
at  his  hands  on  the  table,  "  that  you  are  in  error.  A  man 
may  be  a  millionaire  and  yet  be  of  more  use  than  merely 
to  soak  others  in  champagne." 

Tchetyriof  smiled  slightly  and  looked  at  him  with  an 
expression  of  stubborn  hatred.  Mishuief  trembled,  and 
his  face  grew  flushed. 

"  You  seem  to  be  offended,"  said  Podgurski. 

"  No,  I  am  not  offended,"  rephed  Mishuief ;  "  and  I 
did  not  say  that  because  I  am  myself  a  millionaire. 
Parkhomenko  is  an  exception.  He  is  a  degenerate,  and 
degenerates  are  to  be  found  in  all  classes  of  society.  I 
certainly  think  that  a  man  may  be  like  this  or  like 
that  quite  apart  from  the  gold  that  he  carries  in  his 
pockets." 

"  I  quite  agree  !  "  exclaimed  Opaloff. 

"Parkhomenko  is  no  degenerate,"  said  Tchetyriof 
coldly.  "  In  a  milieu  where  money  is  supreme,  and 
where  for  money  everything  can  be  bought  or  sold, 
Parkhomenko  and  such  as  he  have  their  legitimate  place. 
A  real  millionaire  ought  to  be  like  that.  If  there  are 
exceptions,  it  is  they  who  after  their  fashion  have  degene- 
rated, and  count  as  examples  of  human  paradoxes." 

There  was  such  hatred  underlying  this  speech  that 
Marussin  looked  up  and  blushed,  while  Opaloff  fidgeted 
nervously  on  his  chair. 

"  Why  should  that  be  ?  "  asked  Mishuief,  and  there  was 
a  certain  sadness  in  his  voice.     "  Take  me,  for  instance — " 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  you,"  was  Tchetyriof's  curt 
rejoinder. 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  you  were  speaking  of  me  ?  "  said 
Mishuief  gently. 

"  Present  company,  you  know,  is  always  excepted,  my 
dear  Feodor  Ivanovitch  !  "  said  Opaloff  interposing. 

"  No,  but  why  should  it  be  ?  "  continued  Mishuief, 
lowering  his  voice  even  more.  "  It  would  be  extremely 
interesting  to  me  to  have  the  opinion  of  Sergei  Maximo- 
vitch,  whom,  as  a  poet,  I  most  cordially  appreciate." 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  47 

It  was  now  Tchetyriof  who  turned  red. 

Without  looking  at  him  Misliuief  knew  that  his  op- 
ponent did  not  beheve  him,  and  only  thought  lie  was 
trying  to  be  concihatory.  This  distressed  him  the  more. 
He  regarded  Tchetjrriof  as  a  poet  of  fine  cahbre,  and 
could  not  conceive  why  this  thoughtful,  truth-loving  man, 
who  scarcely  knew  him,  should  already  hate  and  insult 
him.  Controlling  himself  with  an  effort,  he  continued  in 
the  same  undertone  : 

"  I  honestly  mean  what  I  say." 

Marussin  was  touched  at  the  sight  of  this  big,  strong, 
experienced  man  of  the  world  speaking  with  such  gentle- 
ness to  those  who  repulsed  him.  He  even  felt  mildly 
annoyed  at  Tchetyriof's  attitude. 

"  What  Sergei  Maximovitch  probably  wishes  to  point 
out,"  he  said,  blushing,  and  opening  his  kind  eyes,  "  is 
that  the  accumulation  of  gigantic  wealth  in  the  hands  of 
one  man  seems  absurd." 

"  Now  for  a  dose  of  SociaHsm  !  "  sneered  Podgurski. 

"  The  millionaire  himself,  as  he  hves  and  moves,  is  to 
my  mind  an  absurdity,"  was  Tchetyriof's  harsh  rejoinder. 

"  What  can  the  unfortunate  millionaires  have  been 
doing  to  you,  I  wonder  ?  "  asked  Opaloff,  who  again 
sought  to  turn  the  current  of  talk  into  a  calmer  channel. 

But  this  interruption  roused  Mishuief. 

"  I  must  ask  you,  Sergei  Maximovitch,  to  be  more 
expHcit,"  he  said  coolly  but  firmly. 

"  How  can  I  be  more  explicit  ?  "  was  the  glum  re- 
joinder. "  I  have  said  what  I  think.  I  consider  the  life 
of  a  man  in  whose  hands  immense  power  is  placed,  having 
no  right  to  it,  as  nothing  if  not  absurd.  You  cannot 
but  feel  that  such  a  man  in  himself  is  less  even  than  a 
cypher,  and  that,  without  his  millions,  he  would  be  of  no 
earthly  use  to  anybody.  Therefore  the  only  logical 
inference  is  that  he  must  either  remain  an  absolute 
nonentity,  or  else  use  this  immense  power  to  good  purpose. 
Yet  how  can  it  be  utilized  ?  What  can  wealth,  enormous 
wealth,  procure  ?  Luxury,  violence,  debauchery.  Under 
such  conditions  it  would  be  extraordinary  to  assume  that 
a  man  would  readily  renounce  all  that  happens  to  be 


48  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

placed  so  pleasantly  in  his  way.  A  rich  man  finds 
enjoyment  in  debauchery,  violence  and  despotism." 

"  But  surely  not  in  that  alone  ?  Look  at  Tretiakoff,* 
for  instance  !  "  was  Mishuief's  gentle  remonstrance. 

"  And  what  was  Tretiakoff,  pray  ?  "  interposed 
Tchetja-iof  bluntly.  "  A  despot,  just  like  all  the  others. 
A  man  who  spent  his  whole  hfe  in  forcing  art  to  follow 
the  particular  direction  approved  by  himself,  and  who  was 
responsible  for  that  detestable  art-movement  in  Russia 
which  arrested  the  healthy  progress  of  our  national  art  for 
at  least  a  dozen  years." 

Tchetyriof's  feeble  but  penetrating  voice  was  only 
just  audible  above  the  general  noise ;  it  sounded  forced 
and  angry. 

"  It  is  one  of  two  things ;  either  the  millionaire,  if  he 
takes  the  path  that  suits  his  position,  must  feed  upon  his 
fellows,  destroying  life  by  battening  thereon  like  a 
bloated  maggot  in  manure,  or  he  must  remain  that 
which  he  is  already,  an  insignificant  appendage  to  his 
millions." 

"  But  cannot  the  millionaire  be  himself  a  man  of 
talent — a  poet,  a  painter,  a  sculptor  ?  "  asked  Opaloff. 

"  Certainly  he  can,"  rephed  Tchet\Tiof,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "  But  in  order  that  such  talent  may  develop 
and  bear  fruit,  he  must  know  what  it  is  to  struggle  and  to 
endure.  What  can  a  man  know  of  suffering  when,  without 
the  least  effort,  he  can  attain  the  choicest  pleasures  of 
life  ?     The  thing's  absurd  !  " 

"  Feodor  Ivanovitch,"  said  the  manager,  who  had 
noiselessly  approached,  "  you  are  wanted  at  the  tele- 
phone." 

Tchet>Tiof  suddenly  stopped  speaking,  and  liis  eyes 
appeared  shrunken,  as  if  in  thought  he  were  continuing 
his  vehement  speech. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Mishuief,  who  at  first  did  not  under- 
stand. 

He  looked  pale  and  sad,  and  liis  eyes  expressed  spiritual 
pain. 

*  A  wealthy  Moscow  merchant,  the  founder  of  one  of  the  largest 
and  best  art  galleries  in  Russia,  to  which  the  i^ublic  has  free  accesa. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  49 

"  M.  Parkhomenko  would  like  to  speak  to  you  on  the 
telephone,  sir." 

"  Yes,  much  of  what  you  say  may  be  right,"  replied 
Mishuief,  without  looking  at  Tchetyriof,  "  and  I  quite 
understand  your  meaning,  though  you  express  it  some- 
what brutally,  I  think.  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I  shall 
be  back  in  a  moment." 

So  sapng  he  followed  the  manager,  and  as  he  pushed 
past  the  rows  of  tables  he  was  watched  by  curious  eyes. 

Parkhomenko  invited  him  to  come  to  a  restaurant 
outside  the  town.  A  singer  of  cJiansomiettes,  named 
Emma,  whom  Mishuief  knew  slightly,  was  to  be  there. 

"  And  where  is  Maria  Sergeievna  ?  "  asked  Mishuief 
mechanically. 

"  She  has  gone  home  in  the  car,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Good." 

It  was  dark  and  airless  in  the  telephone-box.  Mishuief 
shut  his  eyes  and  leant  against  the  wall.  That  feeble 
voice,  so  full  of  hate,  still  rang  in  his  ears. 

"  Yes  ;  he  may  be  right,  after  all.  .  .  .  But  why  such 
bitter  hatred  ?     Isn't  he  aware  of  that  ?  " 

\Mien  Mishuief  returned  to  the  table  Tchetyriof  and 
Marussin  were  just  about  to  go. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  going  ?  "  he  asked,  with  an  effort. 

"  Yes." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  again,"  he  said,  as  they  shook 
hands. 

"  Perhaps,"  was  Tchet}Tiof's  cold  reply,  which  seemed 
a  reiterated  expression  of  implacable  hate. 

Mishuief  hastily  glanced  at  Marussin's  face,  which  wore 
a  look  of  perplexity  ;  the  frank,  gentle  eyes  were  fixed  on 
something  far  away. 

A  wave  of  conflicting  emotions  surged  up  within 
Mishuief ;  anguish,  fury,  and  a  sudden  burning  desire  to 
do  some  wild,  wicked  deed,  just  to  show  them  that  he  was 
yet  stronger  than  they,  and  that  he  could  trample  on  them 
like  weeds,  if  he  wished.  But  the  impulse  was  a  momen- 
tary one  ;  and,  as  he  watched  the  two  depart,  his  counten- 
ance grew  pale  and  strange  as  that  of  a  man  marked  out  for 
death. 

D 


BARE-shouldered,  with  bosom  dilated,  her  hat  at  a  saucy 
angle,  and  flounces  fluttering  provocatively,  a  woman 
leapt  into  the  room. 

The  men  had  been  drinking  heavily.  In  this  heated 
air,  reeking  of  cigar-smoke,  wine  and  liqueurs,  they  were 
wrought  to  such  a  pitch  that  a  woman's  presence  seemed 
necessary  to  create  a  diversion,  and  to  break  the  monotony 
of  their  night's  debauch. 

Her  entrance  was  the  signal  for  a  display  of  frenzied 
excitement.  Red-faced  Parkhomenko  with  blood-shot 
eyes  and  moist  moustache  rushed  towards  her.  Upsetting 
a  chair,  he  seized  her  by  her  slender  waist  and  lifted  her 
on  to  the  table.  A  bottle  was  knocked  over,  and  a  wine- 
glass fell  to  the  floor  in  fragments. 

"  Oh  !  don't  1  You'll  let  me  fall !  "  she  screamed  in  her 
excited,  high-pitched  voice,  which  roused  the  revellers  to 
madder  merriment. 

"  Hurrah !  "  cried  Parkhomenko,  "  Lovely  woman  for 
ever  !  Give  her  some  wine  !  She  shall  make  up  for  lost 
time  !  " 

In  a  dense  crowd  they  all  stood  round  her,  as  with 
shining  eyes  and  twitching  fingers  they  longed  to  touch 
and  taste.  Parkhomenko  held  a  goblet  of  yellow  cham- 
pagne to  her  laughing,  scarlet  lips  ;  Opaloff,  his  grey 
face  showing  patches  of  dusky  red,  kissed  her  bare  arm 
above  her  glove  ;  and  a  fat  financier  with  a  wet,  gaping 
mouth,  gurgled  and  slobbered  in  ruttish  glee.  It  was 
as  though,  gibbering  and  whining,  they  were  all  ready 
to  fall  upon  this  dainty  flesh  and  tear  it  to  shreds. 

Only  Podgurski,  unconcerned,  continued  to  drink  his 
liqueur,  while  Mishuief  lounged  on  the  sofa  and  looked 
about  him,  dull-eyed  and  drowsy. 

The  others  carried  the  woman  to  the  couch,  and  there 
deposited  her,  probably  hurting  her  somewhat  in  doing 
this.  But  she  only  laughed  loudly,  administering  little  slaps 
to  hands  that  constantly  touched  her  with  shameless  zest, 

50 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  51 

"  Gently,  sirs,  if  you  please  !  Hands  off !  Where's 
the  champagne  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  mean  to  have  a  good 
old  drink,  after  my  success.  You  should  have  seen  what 
a  reception  I  had  to-night !     An  absolute  furore  !  " 

And  she  merrily  sang  a  snatch  from  one  of  her  latest 
ditties. 

Opaloff  brought  her  wine,  and  suddenly  switched  on 
an  electric  pocket-lamp  underneath  the  wine-glass.  The 
foaming  wine  sparkled  like  liquid  gold,  and  its  radiance 
was  reflected  in  the  woman's  laughing  eyes  with  fantastic 
and  charming  effect : 

"  Oh  !  how  splendid  !  Again  !  Do  it  again,  dear  !  " 
she  cried. 

Opaloff  was  about  to  turn  on  the  light  again  when 
Parkhomenko  snatched  the  lamp  out  of  his  hand  and 
flashed  the  white  dazzling  ray  across  her  eyes.  They  had 
the  yellow  luminosity  of  a  cat's.  At  first  she  shut  them 
tightly,  as  if  the  light  hurt  her  ;  then  she  laughed.  They 
could  all  see  how  painted  she  was  ;  the  bistre  on  her  eye- 
lashes, and  the  wrinkles  which  in  so  young  a  woman 
were  deplorable  proofs  of  youth  on  the  wane.  Even 
Podgurski  and  Opaloff  were  touched  to  something  akin 
to  pity.  As  if  by  accident  Parkhomenko  caught  his  foot 
in  her  lace  wrapper  and  tore  it. 

"  Good  gracious  !  what  are  you  doing  ?  "  she  cried  in 
alarm. 

Parkhomenko  pretended  to  trip  up,  and  this  time  made 
a  bigger  rent  in  the  lace,  so  that  her  dainty  leg  was  exposed 
to  view.  His  face  with  its  black  moustache  expressed 
cat-like  cruelty. 

"  Stop  it !     Don't !  "  she  screamed,  angry  and  afraid. 

Opaloff  appeared  distressed,  but  hovered  round  the 
couch,  and  his  face  might  have  been  that  of  a  grinning 
Japanese  doll.  Podgurski  appeared  uninterested  in  the 
proceedings,  yet  at  the  very  moment  when  Mishuief,  much 
against  his  will,  was  going  to  interfere,  he  suddenly  said. 

"  Pavel  Alexeieviteh,  stop  that,  please  !  " 

Parkhomenko  was  literally  quivering  with  excitement. 
He  pretended  to  adjust  the  girl's  dress,  but  in  reality  his 
moist    hands    were    fondling    her    shapely    form.     She 


52  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

laughed  hysterically,  almost  in  tears  because  her  smart 
dress  had  been  spoilt. 

"  Stop  that !  What  are  you  doing  ? "  exclaimed 
Podgurski  once  more. 

"Do  leave  her  alone,  Pavel  Alexeievitch !  "  said 
Mishiiief,  supporting  him. 

But  Parkhomenko  either  could  not  or  would  not  hear. 
His  red  face  with  its  mad,  cruel,  lustful  look  was  horrible 
to  behold. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  I  say  ?  Hands  off !  "  said  Pod- 
gurski, in  a  lower,  more  threatening  tone.  Mishuief 
looked  round  at  him  in  astonishment,  expecting  Parkho- 
menko to  reply.  The  latter,  however,  said  nothing, 
though  he  momentarily  ceased  to  molest  the  girl,  looking 
evidently  seared. 

"  We'll  soon  mend  that.  Just  give  me  a  couple  of 
pins,"  said  Opaloff,  the  mediator,  turning  good-naturedly 
to  the  cJianteuse,  who  was  holding  together  the  remnants 
of  her  lace  WTapper. 

"  How  proper  we  are,  all  of  a  sudden !  "  sneered 
Parkhomenko,  as,  like  a  dog,  he  slunk  away ;  "  One  can't 
even  have  a  bit  of  fun." 

"  There's  a  limit  to  everything,"  said  Mishuief  coldly. 

Parkhomenko  for  a  moment  was  thoroughly  dis- 
concerted, for  he  could  see  that  his  "  bit  of  fun  "  had 
amused  no  one.  Yet  he  soon  became  unnaturally 
vivacious,  and  turning  to  Emma,  exclaimed : 

"  Oh  !  what's  the  good  of  pins  ?  Let  me  do  it,  Opaloff ; 
I  know  a  better  way  than  that !  " 

Thereupon  he  produced  two  bank-notes  of  one  hundred 
roubles  each,  which  he  thrust  into  the  girl's  bodice. 

"  Here,  Emmy  dear  !     Don't  be  angry  !  " 

Emma  at  once  became  quiet  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
Suddenly  she  kissed  Parkhomenko  on  his  black  moist 
moustache. 

"  Oh  !  I  say,  it  is  good  of  you  !  "  she  exclaimed,  and 

one  could  hardly  tell  if  she  honestly  thought  so  or  not. 

"  Good,  indeed  !  "  said  Podgurski  in  a  mocking  voice. 

"  First  he  tears  your  dress,  and  then  he  gives  you  money  ! 

Splendid  fellow  !  " 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  53 

It  looked  as  if,  in  another  minute,  he  would  rush  at 
Parkhomenko  and  pommel  his  rotund,  self-satisfied  face. 

"  Pretty  way  to  behave  !  "  he  continued,  "  to  tear 
people's  clothes  off  their  backs,  and  then  chuck  money 
about  I  It's  like  some  clown  at  a  fair  !  "  His  deliberately 
insulting  tone  was  unmistakable.  "  Why  don't  you 
smear  the  waiters'  noses  with  mustard  ?  It  would  be 
just  as  funny.  Or  you  might  shove  your  head  through  a 
mirror  ?  " 

Parkhomenko  smiled  and  winced.  Mishuief  was  sur- 
prised to  note  his  look  of  impotent  fury  ;  it  reminded  him 
of  some  little  cur  that  would  like  to  bite,  but  durst  not. 

Podgurski  went  on  in  the  same  strain  of  banter.  He 
suggested  that  Parkhomenko  should  make  a  tour  through 
the  town  in  four  state  carriages  ;  told  him  he  ought  to  try 
a  champagne  bath ;  or  drive  through  a  wall,  after  the 
manner  of  a  well-known  Moscow  merchant.  At  all  this 
Parkliomenko  laughed  uneasily,  unnaturally.  It  was 
plain  that,  though  furious,  he  felt  afraid. 

How  did  you  manage  to  tackle  him  like  that  ?  " 
whispered  Opaloff. 

"  Easily  enough ! "  was  the  contemptuous  answer. 
"  These  gentlemen  think  that  with  their  wealth  they  may 
do  anything.  But  if  they  happen  to  run  up  against  a 
fellow  who  doesn't  care  a  damn  for  their  money-bags, 
they  very  soon  knuckle  under  I  " 

The  fat  Jew  financier  with  such  tact  as  he  possessed 
now  sought  to  smooth  matters  over,  and  began  to  relate 
anecdotes  concerning  famous  milHonaires  and  their 
eccentric  achievements.  One  or  two  of  his  tales  proved 
to  be  quite  amusing,  so  that  the  talk  soon  became  general, 
and  at  last  Parldiomenko,  wrought  to  a  pitch  of  en- 
thusiasm, exclaimed  with  flashing  eyes  : 

"  Ah  !  but  there's  nothing  in  all  that  !  I've  got  a 
brilliant  idea.  How  would  it  be  to  harness  half  a  dozen 
ballet-girls  to  a  landau — just  as  they  are,  you  know, 
in  their  muslin  skirts  and  tights — and  then  drive  through 
the  Morskaia  !     Oh  !  it  would  be  awfully  chic  !  " 

"  How  silly  !  "  said  Emma  peevishly,"  They  would 
never  make  themselves  so  ridiculous  !  " 


54  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

"  Oh !  wouldn't    they,     though  ?     For    a    couple    of 
thousand  one  could  get  a  whole  team  of  stockbrokers  !  " 
At  this  the  fat  financier  burst  out  laughing,  and  fairly- 
slobbered  at  the  mouth. 

"  That  would  be  really  too  funny  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 
"  Yes,  of  course  it  would  !  "  cried  Parkhomenko  in  his 
excitement.  "  Imagine  the  nice  little  pink  legs  trotting 
along,  and  the  bare  necks  that  one  could  touch  up  now 
and  again  with  the  whip  !  It  only  wants  a  little  working 
out  and  the  effect  would  be  jolly  fine  1  " 

Mishuief  still  sat  on  the  couch  and  hardly  drank  any- 
thing. In  his  eyes  there  was  the  same  look  of  weariness 
and  disgust.  Yet  he  seemed  unable  to  move,  but  sat 
there  stolidly,  feeling  afraid  to  be  alone  lest  he  should 
think,  lest  he  should  long  for  something  mysterious  and 
inconceivable.  Almost  deafened  though  he  was  by  their 
shouts  and  laughter,  every  word  and  every  movement 
served  to  increase  his  disgust. 

"  That  tradesman's  son,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  who 
looks  like  a  sheep,  or  some  big  tom-cat  teasing  a  mouse, 
and  who  finds  enjoyment  in  whipping  naked  ballet-girls, 
and  in  maltreating  a  poor  cocotte ;  that  fat  financier, 
perpetually  smacking  his  lips,  as  if  he  were  chewing 
roubles ;  and  Opaloff,  a  man  of  real  talent,  crushing  all 
his  finer  artistic  instincts  underfoot  in  order  to  curry 
favour  with  Plutocracy  1  "How  appalling  to  think  that 
men  are  really  like  that,  and  that  he  must  pass  his  life 
among  them  for  many  years  to  come  !  He  remembered 
Marussin  and  Tchetyriof,  and  sadly  pictured  to  himself 
their  remote,  implacable  souls,  containing  that  something 
within  them  which  he  could  not  understand.  It  roused 
once  more  his  bitter  resentment.  Only  for  Podgurski 
sitting  there,  drinking  and  smoking,  did  he  feel  a  certain 
passing  sympathy."  Whatever  he  may  be,  at  least  he 
wasn't  afraid  to  protect  poor  Emma.  .  .  ." 

It  was  now  late.  They  had  all  drunk  to  excess,  and 
could  shout  and  laugh  no  more.  Their  fatigue  showed 
itself  in  a  certain  nervous  restlessness.  Emma  looked 
flushed,  expectant ;  in  her  eyes,  yellow  as  a  cat's,  there 
was  no  trace  of  shame.     She  seated  herself  on  the  men's 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  55 

knees,  danced  the  matchiche,  pinched  their  arms,  and 
pressed  her  nude  shoulders  nearer  to  their  Hps.  The  men 
by  degrees  became  mad.  Only  Mishuicf  and  Podgurski, 
the  latter  drinking  on,  unmoved,  kept  their  seats.  The 
others  crowded  round  Emma,  and  it  was  evident  that  to 
one  of  them  she  would  very  soon  fall  as  his  prey.  .  .  . 

"  These  wretched,  wretched  men  !  "  thought  Mishuicf ; 
and  in  that  moment  he  felt  that  he  himself  was  the  most 
wretched  of  them,  and  the  most  forlorn.  ... 

Suddenly  Parkhomenko  sprang  on  to  a  chair  and 
cried : 

"  Look  here,  gentlemen  !     There  are  three  of  us.  .  .  ." 

"  Five  !  "  was  Podgurski's  mocking  correction, 

"  And  only  one  woman  !  .  .  .  I  propose  that  we  draw 
lots  for  her  !  " 

"  For  shame !  "  cried  Emma,  pretending  to  be  shocked. 

"  Or  else  ...  no,  we  won't  draw  lots.  We'll  have  an 
auction  !  That'll  be  great  sport.  The  highest  bidder  to 
be  the  purchaser  !  " 

"  Splendid  idea  !  "  assented  the  financier. 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?  Podgurski,  you  shall  be  the  auc- 
tioneer !  Now  then,  Emma,  get  up  on  this  chair.  .  .  . 
Down  with  your  bodice !  We  must  see  what  we're 
buying  !  " 

"  Have  I  got  to  do  that  ?  "  cried  the  girl  giggling,  as 
if  she  had  been  splashed  with  cold  water. 

"  Yes,  yes,  there's  no  help  for  it !  "  shouted  Parkho- 
menko. "  It's  to  be  a  sale  by  auction,  so  don't  make 
any  fuss  !  " 

«  *  *  4: 

"  Now  then,"  cried  Podgurski,  as  with  a  knife  he  tapped 
the  rim  of  a  glass,  "  a  woman  named  Emma  is  put  up 
for  sale  in  public  auction  to  the  highest  bidder.  The 
property  may  be  viewed  and  even  handled  by  intending 
purchasers.  Well,  gentlemen,  shall  we  say  three  hundred 
roubles  for  a  start  ?     Who  will  bid  more  ?  " 

"  Four  hundred  !  "  cried  Parkhomenko,  raising  his  glass. 

"  All  right,  then,"  said  the  financier,  "  let's  call  it  five 
hundred." 

There  was  a  look  of  greed  and  lust  in  his  eyes,  delighted 


56  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

though  he  seemed  to  be.     It  was  not  lost  on  Podgurski, 
who  laughed. 

"Five  hundred,"  he  said.  "Who  bids  more?  .  .  . 
Going  .  .  ." 

Opaloff's  red  perspiring  face  wore  a  vacuous  smile. 
A  mad  idea  darted  through  his  brain  :  to  borrow  the 
money  from  somewhere.  Simultaneously,  like  a  flash, 
came  the  thought  of  his  hotel-bill  to  be  paid  on  the 
following  day,  the  cost  of  the  return  journey  to  Moscow, 
and  his  wife's  pale,  sulky  face.  But,  before  his  eyes, 
nude  and  splendid,  stood  the  glorious  woman  that  he 
desired. 

"  Borrow  it,  somehow  .  .  .  might  get  it,  later  on  .  .  ." 
he  thought,  yet  all  the  while  it  was  quite  clear  to  him 
that  he  could  not  possibly  get  money  from  anybody, 
that  he  would  have  to  travel  home,  and  that  he  would 
never  dare  to  risk  it. 

So  his  handsome,  refined  features  were  distorted  by  a 
foolish  smile. 

Mishuief  himself  was  conscious  that  he  could  not 
remain  uninfluenced  by  the  amazing  proceedings.  His 
wide  nostrils  became  dilated  as  he  watched  the  glowing 
faces  and  glanced  threateningly  at  Emma.  Suddenly 
he  thought : 

"  How  would  it  be  to  snap  her  up  under  their  very 
noses  ?  "  and  his  eyes  flashed.  The  sense  of  his  own 
power  intoxicated  him. 

"  Be  quick,  gentlemen ;  it's  cold,"  said  Emma 
shivering. 

"  Six  hundred  !  "  exclaimed  Parkhomenko  enraptured. 

"  Six  hundred  !  "  repeated  Podgurski.  "  Any  more 
bids  ?  " 

Something  strangely  tormenting  now  surged  up  in 
Mishuief's  mind,  a  dark,  brutal  desire  that  briefly  strove 
with  his  own  disgust  and  contempt  for  his  surroundings 
and  for  himself.  It  was  this  something  that  proved 
victorious. 

"  Going  .  .  .  going  .  .  ." 

Parkhomenko  leapt  towards  Emma,  whose  attitude  was 
already  one  of  submission. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  57 

"  Seven  hundred,"  said  Mishuief  gently.  A  look  of 
brute  force  unbridled  at  last,  darkened  and  disfigured  liis 
face.     Parkhomenko  was  thunderstruck. 

"  Going  ,  .  .  going  ,  .  ,  going— gone !  cried 
Podgurski. 

Emma  laughed  hysterically.  But  there  were  tears  in 
her  painted  eyes,  tears  of  shame  which  to  herself,  perhaps, 
were  incomprehensible. 


VI 

It  was  already  dawn,  and  from  the  horizon  a  dehcate 
iridescent  light  broke  on  the  dreaming  town.  Night, 
growing  pale,  retreated  timorously  to  the  hills ;  the 
shadows  grew  grey ;  everything  appeared  transparent, 
even  the  distant  hills  lay  Avreathed  in  opal  mist  like  clouds 
at  sunrise. 

The  sound  of  hoofs  was  heard  as  a  droshky  rattled 
along  through  the  deserted  streets  leading  to  the  villa 
where  Emma  lived. 

Mishuief  was  still  trembling  from  the  emotion  which 
had  suddenly  seized  him.  The  woman  that  had  been 
sold  was  entirely  in  his  hands.  Her  large  eyes  had  a 
strange,  startled  look  in  the  grey  dawn.  In  fact,  there 
was  something  strange  about  her  whole  personality.  Just 
as  within  the  melody  of  a  dance,  flashy  and  obvious 
though  it  be,  there  sometimes  lurks  a  shy,  tremulous  note 
of  sorroAv,  so  in  this  half-nude,  painted  cocotte  another 
personality  at  times  furtively  revealed  itself,  being  that 
of  a  miserable,  dejected  woman.  Thus,  all  the  while  she 
laughed,  drank,  danced  and  flirted,  round  the  corners 
of  her  painted  eyes  and  mouth  fell  the  shadow  of  some 
hidden  grief.  It  was  this  that  gave  her  a  certain  piquancy 
and  charm.  At  the  restaurant,  in  the  electric  light,  this 
strangely  sad  expression  was  hidden  beneath  the  bold 
mask  of  the  saleable  hetaira.  Now,  however,  when  all 
was  at  an  end,  and  she  was  at  the  disposition  of  the 
man  who  had  bought  her,  the  look  of  melancholy  and 
weariness  returned,  and  blended  strangely  with  the 
grey,  desolate  mists  of  dawn.  .  .  .  On  reaching  the 
villa  they  passed  through  the  garden  filled  with  the 
scents  of  southern  flowers.  Mishuief  followed  Emma, 
who  led  the  way  to  the  house  like  some  submissive 
slave. 

"  What  is  this  that  I  am  doing  ?  "  asked  Mishuief  of 
himself.  "Is  it  madness  ?  A  base,  cowardly  act  ? 
Well,  perhaps  it  is  ;  yet  why  shouldn't  I  do  it,  if  I  have 

58 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  59 

the  power  and  the  will  ?     Bestial,  yes ;    despotic,  yes, 
for  aught  I  care  !  " 

There  was  a  touch  of  malicious  exultation  in  this 
thought,  as  if  he  were  revenging  himself  upon  one  that 
was  fairer,  purer  than  he,  and  that  now  he  intended  to 
thrust  from  him  utterly. 

Suddenly,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  he  said  to  Emma,  "  Let 
us  stop  here." 

At  first  she  did  not  understand,  and  glanced  involun- 
tarily at  the  turf  in  the  shade  of  the  rose-bushes  and  the 
shrubs.  That  glance  he  swiftly  intercepted,  and  in  a 
wild  impulse  of  animal  passion  seized  her  by  the 
hand. 

"  No  1  No  !  Here  it's  impossible  1  "  she  whispered, 
as  her  lips  whitened. 

As  she  started  backwards,  her  cloak  slipped,  and  the 
grey  dawn-light  touched  her  quivering  shoulders. 

"  But  if  I  wish  it  ?  "     Mishuief  smiled  grimly. 

Still  she  resisted  and  recoiled,  looking  round  her  with 
wild,  sad  eyes.  There  was  a  brief  struggle,  and  then, 
suddenly,  in  the  magical  atmosphere  of  that  garden  at 
dawn  stood  a  woman  half  nude,  clad  only  in  strips  of 
tattered  lace  that,  light  as  sea-foam,  fluttered  round  her. 
Brutally,  with  a  wild  sense  of  mastery  and  of  possession, 
he  caught  her  by  her  white,  supple  neck  and  thrust  her 
to  the  ground.  .  .  . 

For  what  ensued  he  felt  only  bitter  shame  and  a  strange, 
humiliating  fear.  All  those  whom  he  had  met  a  few  hours 
since — Tchetyriof,  Parkhomenko,  Maria  Sergeievna,  Ma- 
russin,  Opaloff — passed  swiftly  before  his  mental  vision. 
In  Emma's  eyes,  as  they  met  his,  he  could  read  disgust 
and  helpless  hatred  ;  they  recalled  the  look  of  loathing 
and  rebuke  in  those  of  Tchetyriof.  Then,  as  if  a  shadow 
had  fallen  across  them,  her  eyes  expressed  terror,  deference 
and  greed.  She  made  an  effort  to  speak ;  her  lips 
trembled  ;  and  Mishuief,  seeing  this,  felt  sudden  fear. 
She  no  longer  seemed  human,  but  something  pitifully 
repulsive.  Her  wicked  eyes  had  a  false,  impudent  look ; 
and  her  lips  were  set  in  a  treacherous  smile.  Stepping 
forward,  she  put  her  white  arm  round  his  neck.    The 


60  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

pale  morning  light  fell  on  the  graceful  outlines  of  her 
form  and  was  lost  in  the  soft  shadows  of  her  bosom. 

Upon  Mishuief  the  effect  was  at  first  almost  horrifying  ; 
but  in  another  moment  he  felt  only  loathing  for  her  and 
for  himself.  Senseless  appeared  to  him  the  terrific  storm 
that  but  a  moment  before  had  thus  fiercely  raged,  and  of 
which  not  a  trace  remained.  His  actual  feeling  was  one 
of  sheer  disgust. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said  awkwardly,  "  I'll  send  you  the 
money  later." 

Again  she  leaned  towards  him,  smiling  seductively, 
but  Mishuief  turned  sharply  round  and  walked  away. 
The  garden-gate  creaked  noisily  behind  him.  Around 
him  all  was  void  and  silent ;  only  the  grey-blue  street 
lay  before.  He  could  hear  the  sound  of  her  little  steps, 
as  she  hurried  along  the  gravel-path,  and  the  rustle  of 
her  silk  skirts.     Then  all  was  silent  and  desolate. 

So,  too,  in  Mishuief's  heart,  silence  and  desolation 
reigned,  as  the  whole  feverish  nightmare  vanished,  leaving 
only  a  sense  of  helpless  woe.  Standing  still  for  a  moment 
in  the  middle  of  the  street,  he  gazed  at  the  pale  blue 
morning  sky  where  two  pink  cloudlets  floated,  like  birds 
in  flight  to  distant  sunlit  shores. 


VII 

Every  evening  a  band  played  in  the  municipal  gardens. 
The  bandstand,  resembling  a  huge  illuminated  shell,  was 
jBJIed  with  musicians  that  moved  and  swayed  like  strange 
insects.  Rows  of  slender,  graceful  violin-bows  slid  up 
and  down  as  if  they  were  the  legs  of  grasshoppers,  and 
the  conductor  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  beetle 
that  was  continually  opening  and  shutting  its  wings. 

The  flutes  piped  sweetly,  the  viohns  wailed  and  screamed, 
and  one  grave,  mournful  trumpet  made  the  final  harmonies 
fuller,  richer,  and  more  complete. 

The  walks  were  thronged  with  noisy  people,  and  the 
sound  of  shuffling  feet  and  chattering  tongues  rose  on 
the  air  like  a  wave,  now  appearing  louder  and  now  more 
faint,  as  it  died  away  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  alleys, 
and  then  surged  up  again  in  a  wild  stream  of  laughter, 
shouts,  and  vibrant  feminine  voices. 

A  fantastic  procession  of  smiling  faces  passed  along 
in  the  dull  blue  electric  light,  as  they  suddenly  arose, 
became  fused,  merged  in  each  other,  and  then  separated, 
seemingly  in  the  tortuous  mazes  of  a  dance.  As  canopy 
they  had  the  dark  blue  dome  of  heaven,  silent,  majestic, 
and  filled  with  radiant  southern  stars. 

Thus  the  festival  progressed,  brilliant,  careless,  brim- 
ming with  life  ;  yet  it  seemed  to  Mishuief  that  in  all  this 
merry  throng  he  was  but  a  dark  blot,  the  seal  and  sign 
of  all  that  is  solitary  and  unprofitable. 

It  was  on  this  day  that  Maria  Sergeievna,  looking 
specially  charming  in  a  new  blue  dress,  had  again  gone 
out  with  Parkhomenko  in  his  motor.  All  day  long,  like 
a  black  shadow,  a  grim  sense  of  unrest  had  weighed  upon 
Mishuief's  mind.  Maria  latterly  had  been  abnormally 
bright  and  gay,  and  Mishuief  knew  that  in  his  absence 
Parkhomenko  never  ceased  to  pay  assiduous  court  to 
her.  He  could  easily  imagine  with  what  deft  and  impu- 
dent assurance  Parkhomenko  was  playing  his  dirty  game, 
and  how  he  would  gradually  draw  the  noose  tighter  and 

61 


62  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

ever  tighter.  Yet  Maria  Avas  still  utterly  fascinated  by 
the  perpetual  charm  of  her  new  life,  now  that  after  long 
years  of  indigence  and  dulness,  she  had  been  plunged 
into  a  vortex  of  luxury,  and  so  she  danced  unwittingly 
and  all  too  carelessly  the  perilous  dance  above  the  abyss. 
Even  her  dresses,  in  which  she  cleverly  contrived  to 
suggest  propriety  heightened  by  daring  touches  of  demi- 
mondaine  freedom,  obviously  indicated  the  excitement 
which  her  dazzling  personal  charms  aroused. 

Probably  she  herself  hardly  gave  it  a  thought,  yet 
Mishuief  knew  that  under  such  conditions  it  needed  but 
an  accident,  a  moonlight  night,  some  sudden  licence,  an 
unexpected,  frivolous  caress,  and  she  would  then  only 
regain  her  senses  when  all  was  at  an  end. 

To  Mishuief  the  idea  seemed  absurd  and  indeed  un- 
speakably painful  that  Maria  Sergeievna  should  give 
herself  to  a  man  who  would  only  look  upon  her  as  a 
successful  means  of  stimulating  his  jaded  lust.  It  was 
utterly  disgusting,  and  quite  at  variance  with  her  charm- 
ing personality.  At  times  he  rejected  it  as  unthinkable. 
She  was  beautiful,  clever,  cultured,  and  had  loved  two 
men,  both  of  whom  were  above  the  average.  Thus,  after 
their  affection,  an  intrigue  with  this  Parkhomenko,  half 
beast,  half  idiot,  would  seem  vile  beyond  all  conception. 

Yet  at  times  he  was  tortured  by  the  thought :  "  In 
what  way  am  I  better  than  he  ?  I  have  greater  intelli- 
gence, finer  perceptions.  Granted.  But,  when  we  began 
our  life  together,  did  I  show  her  this  intelligence,  these 
finer  feelings,  or  merely  the  same  animal  lust  ?  Once 
she  loved  her  husband,  who  was  certainly  a  far  more 
intelligent  and  talented  man  than  myself ;  and  then  she 
gave  herself  to  me  because  I  could  procure  for  her  luxury 
and  enjoyment.  It  was  with  the  prospect  of  a  new  life 
that  I  seduced  her.  Parkhomenko  achieves  the  same 
end  with  his  impudence,  his  despotism.  .  .  .  She  came 
to  me  without  love,  solely  because  I  was  wealthy  ;  she 
came  just  as  the  lowest  of  women  would  have  come.  In 
her  case  it  was  worse,  for  she  hid  her  mercenary  motives 
beneath  a  profession  of  love.  Could  anything  be  more 
vile  ?  " 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  63 

Musing  thus,  Mishuief  lounged  along  through  the 
crowd.  He  walked  slowly,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  sick  at  heart,  nursing  a  grief  that  he  was  powerless 
to  define. 

In  one  of  the  alleys  he  met  the  old  General  and  his 
little  daughter  Niurotschka,  who  laughed  her  silvery 
laugh  and  tossed  back  her  head,  showing  her  pretty  chin. 
While  yet  at  a  distance  she  had  seen  Mishuief,  and  in  her 
quiet  way  gave  him  a  droll  side-glance  ;  it  was  like  a 
timid  challenge,  of  which  she  herself  was  unconscious. 
Her  bright,  youthful  face  was  to  Mishuief  as  a  breath  of 
pure,  fresh  air,  yet  he  only  bowed  and  passed  on. 

A  few  days  previously  the  General  had  summoned  up 
courage  sufficient  to  ask  the  millionaire  for  his  help  in 
order  to  send  the  girl  to  the  Moscow  University  ;  and  this 
help  Mishuief  had  promised  to  give.  The  idea  pleased 
him  at  first ;  it  seemed  delightful  to  be  of  assistance  to 
this  pretty  little  girl.  Then  in  his  troubled  mind  arose 
morbid  misgivings.  Perhaps  the  General  was  offering 
him,  the  millionaire,  his  daughter,  and  that  she  knew 
nothing  of  it  seemed  inconceivable.  Mishuief  clearly 
foresaw  that  he  would  meet  the  girl  in  Moscow,  and  that 
each  from  the  very  first  would  be  sensible  of  their  mutual 
relations,  she  feeling  under  an  obligation  to  him  for  his 
generosity,  and  he,  counting  upon  her  gratitude.  .  .  . 

Inevitable,  simple  as  it  all  seemed,  it  made  a  horrible 
impression  on  Mishuief. 

"  Yet  why  should  it  be  so  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  Per- 
haps it  will  never  get  as  far  as  that !  Perhaps  we  shall 
just  remain  good  friends,  and  I  shall  grow  really  fond  of 
her,  and  in  her  pure  life  my  own  will  become  fresh  and 
wholesome  ?  Why  do  I  always  foresee  something  vile  ? 
There  are  other  ways,  other  possibilities  of  living.  Men 
live  happily,  honourably.  Why  is  it  only  I  who  .  .  .  ? 
Or  have  I  within  me  some  special  germ  of  moral  disease  ? 
Must  all  that  I  touch  become  filthy  and  putrid  ?  What 
a  nightmare  !  I  am  sick  at  heart ;  I  am  killing  my  very 
self  by  such  hideous  delusions  !  " 

His  features  became  distorted,  as  though  a  knife  had 
pierced  his  heart ;    and  a  sudden  dread  seized  him,  a 


64  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

dread  of  remaining  longer  in  this  disturbing,  foolish 
crowd.  Leaving  the  gardens,  he  entered  a  restaurant 
facing  the  sea,  and  sat  down  at  a  small  table  on  the 
balcony. 

"  Feodor  Ivanovitch,  why  are  you  sitting  there,  all 
alone  ?  "  cried  a  voice  from  the  quay  below,  as  the  fat, 
unsavoury  Podgurski  approached  him  with  a  greedy  look 
in  his  twinkling  eyes,  and  wearing  the  same  unsightly 
clothes. 

"  Good  morning.  I  expect  you  find  it  a  bit  dull,  eh  ?  " 
Taking  a  seat  beside  him,  he  asked  :  "  I  say,  Feodor 
Ivanovitch,  what  are  we  going  to  drink  ?  " 

Mishuief  smiled.  For  some  reason  or  other,  in  the 
presence  of  this  insolent,  luckless  youth  he  felt  greater 
freedom.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  predatory  instincts 
of  Podgurski.  They  were  there,  on  the  surface,  for  all 
to  see.  Yet  it  was  also  plain  that  his  relations  with 
Mishuief  did  not  depend  upon  whether  the  latter  would 
give  him  money  or  not. 

Podgurski  saw  at  once  that  Mishuief  was  bored,  and 
honestly  wished  to  cheer  him  up. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  latest  ?  Opaloff  won  thirteen 
hundred  roubles  yesterday  from  Parkhomenko." 

"  Did  he  really  ?  " 

Mishuief  good-humouredly  appeared  to  be  greatly 
interested. 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  do  you  think  was  the  first  thing  that 
he  did  ?  He  went  and  collared  Emma,  and  has  dragged 
her  off  with  him  somewhere.  He  was  in  such  a  hurry, 
too,  that  he  even  left  his  necktie  behind.  He  must  be 
having  a  glorious  time  !  " 

"  In  his  case,  it  wouldn't  want  much  to  give  him  a 
glorious  time,  I  should  say,"  laughed  Mishuief. 

"  That  might  not  be  much  for  you,  but  for  Opaloff, 
whose  wife  runs  about  in  a  flannel  dressing-gown,  and 
is  always  having  babies,  it's  simply  Paradise,  full  of  scents 
and  lace,  and  luxury.  Oh  !  I  should  rather  think  it 
was  !  " 

"  I  say,  do  you  know  what  we'll  do  ?  "  he  continued 
in  a  livelier  tone.     "  We'll  go  to  the  Casino." 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  G5 

"  What  can  we  do  there  ?  " 

"  Gamble,  of  course  !  "  was  the  reply,  as  if  Podgurski 
were  proposing  something  extremely  diverting. 

"  What's  the  good  ?  "  asked  Mishuief  languidly.  "  Too 
boring." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  drive  down  to  Emma's  place,  and 
see  Opaloff  rechning  in  the  lap  of  luxury." 

Mishuief  did  not  answer,  and  Podgurski,  who  saw  that 
his  proposal  was  negatived,  made  yet  another. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  rubbing  his 
forehead  in  perplexity.  "  Oh !  I  know  !  If  you  like 
I  can  take  you  to  a  place  where.  .  .  .  You  don't  see 
such  things,  even  in  Paris.     Let's  go,  shall  we  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  really  don't  want  to  go."  Mishu- 
ief's  face  expressed  disgust. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't." 

Podgurski  eyed  him  curiously. 

"  I  suppose  it's  on  principle  that  you  won't  go,  eh  ?  '* 
he  sneered.  "  Up  to  the  present  I  always  thought 
that  millionaires  were  never  troubled  by  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  Don't  you  admit,  then,  that  millionaires  may  have 
even  the  most  primitive  sense  of  purity  ?  "  asked  Mis- 
huief in  a  graver  tone  than  he  wished,  as  he  smiled 
nervously. 

Podgurski  eyed  him  once  more,  and  at  first  did  not 
speak.  Then  he  abruptly  changed  the  subject,  told 
sundry  droll  stories,  and  poked  fun  at  Parkhomenko  and 
the  Yalta  public.  At  last  he  suddenly  asked  for  a  hundred 
roubles.  Mechanically,  Mishuief  produced  his  pocket- 
book  and  handed  him  the  money,  thinking  all  the  while 
of  something  else.  As  he  opened  it,  Podgurski  scrutinized 
the  coloured  edges  of  the  bank-notes  it  contained,  and 
when  Mishuief  laid  the  wallet  on  the  table  the  other  could 
not  immediately  take  his  eyes  off  it. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  can't  make  out,"  said  Mishuief 
slowly,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  own  thoughts. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

Mishuief  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  glanced  sadly  aside, 


66  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

as  if  he  could  not  say  the  grave  thing  that  oppressed 
him. 

"  It's  Uke  this,"  he  stammered,  still  looking  downwards, 
"  whatever  I  may  say  or  I  may  do,  nobody  views  it  in 
the  same  way  that  any  other  person's  words  and  deeds 
would  be  viewed.  No  one  ever  tells  me  that  what  I 
think  or  feel  is  wrong  ;  their  one  idea  is  :  he's  a  million- 
aire !  He's  got  millions  I  If  you  only  knew  how  boring 
that  is  1  " 

Again  he  smiled  nervously,  aware  that  "  boring  "  was 
not  the  word  that  he  wanted,  but  a  stronger,  more  serious 
epithet. 

Podgurski  gazed  at  him,  wide-eyed.  He  had  entirely 
forgotten  the  recent  conversation,  and  could  not  under- 
stand what  Mishuief  meant  by  this  remark. 

"  Tchetyi'iof  was  right,  after  all,"  he  thought.  "  It 
seems  to  have  upset  him  a  bit.  But  he's  really  a  fool, 
and  his  own  fat  will  choke  him  !  " 

"  All  that  sort  of  thing's  so  unnatural,"  continued 
Mishuief,  looking  pained  and  sad.  "  Why  do  you,  for 
instance,  treat  Tchetyriof,  who  earns  a  hundred  times 
what  you  earn,  in  such  a  casual  way,  while  ..." 

"  Hm  !  Tchetyriof,"  replied  Podgurski,  "  however 
much  he  earns,  does  it  all  by  his  brains.  As  long  as  his 
strength  holds  out  he  can  work,  but  if  he  became  ill  and 
no  longer  the  fashion,  his  position  would  be  much  what 
mine  is  now.  And  what  sort  of  an  income  do  you  suppose 
he  has  !  There's  little  difference  between  his  way  of 
living  and  mine.  But  a  milhonaire  1  That's  something 
very  different.  Life  on  another  scale  ;  possibilities  of 
quite  another  kind.  His  position,  for  one  thing,  is  a 
peculiar  one,  and  his  relations  with  others  are  all  of  an 
exceptional  nature.  I  really  can't  see  what  it  is  that 
worries  you  so  !  " 

"  It  does  not  actually  worry  me,  but  it  troubles  me," 
replied  Mishuief,  feeling  disinclined  to  say  too  much, 
and  ashamed  to  open  his  heart  to  such  a  fellow  as 
Podgurski. 

The  latter  was  silent  and  listened  attentively. 

"  It's  the  unique  position  assigned  to  me  among  my 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  67 

fellow-men  that  exasperates  me,"  continued  Mishuief 
reluctantly,  as  the  other  did  not  speak.  "  Why  can't 
people  admit  that  I  am  just  the  same  sort  of  man  as  any 
other,  that  I  think  the  same,  feel  the  same  as " 

"  Perhaps  I  personally  am  of  that  opinion,"  said 
Podgurski,  smiling,  "  but  you  can't  get  away  from  the 
fact  that  money  is  a  huge  force  ;  and  you  yourself  can't 
help  utilizing  it.  We  each  of  us  live  according  to  our 
means.  We  others  have  only  ourselves  to  reckon  with, 
and  our  good  or  bad  qualities,  but  when  you  come  along 
with  your  money,  it's  a  very  different  affair.  Everybody 
knows  that.  It  doesn't  matter  a  damn  to  me,  really, 
but  still  I  feel  that  you  are  not  like  myself  or  Opaloff  or 
Tchetyriof.  Probably  you  won't  do  me  any  harm  or 
any  good,  but  still,  you  could  if  you  chose.  That's  where 
it  is.  I  said  I  didn't  care  a  damn  if  you'd  millions  or 
not,  but  I  must  honestly  confess  that  I  made  a  mistake." 
Podgurski  laughed  and  made  a  gesture  of  resignation,  as 
it  were,  to  fate. 

Mishuief  nodded,  eager  to  hear  what  was  coming,  and 
Podgurski  continued  almost  peevishly  :  "  Whether  you 
like  it  or  not,  I  can  never  forget  that  you  are  a  millionaire 
and  lead  a  life  of  luxury  and  enjoyment  such  as  I  have 
never  even  dreamed  of,  and  that  you  could  plank  me  down 
a  thousand  roubles,  if  you  liked.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  might  play  me  a  dirty  trick.  Why,  look  at  Parkho- 
menko " 

"  We  are  not  talking  of  Parkhomenko  !  "  interrupted 
Mishuief,  in  a  tone  intended  sharply  to  dissociate  that 
name  from  his  own. 

"  Yet  for  us  you  are  both  exactly  alike  I  "  exclaimed 
Podgurski  eagerly  and  wdth  absolute  conviction.  "  We 
can  never  know  how  you  think,  nor  how  you  feel." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  something  had 
occurred  to  him. 

"  Look  here  1  It  annoys  you  that  others  regard  you 
as  different  from  themselves.  But  you  yourself,  Feodor 
Ivanovitch,  why  don't  you  do  something  to  show  us 
what  you  really  are — your  real  soul,  not  that  of  a  million- 
aire, no,  just  that  of  a  Mishuief  ?     It  is  because  that  not 


68  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

for  a  moment  can  you  ever  forget  that  you  are  a  million- 
aire ! '?  Instead  of  getting  into  closer  touch  with  other 
men  and  winning  their  sympathy,  you  insist  upon  this 
sympathy  as  a  right,  and  are  annoyed  at  not  getting  it. 
Well,  that  is  certainly  not  .  .  ." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  only  too  ready  to  gain 
their  confidence,"  retorted  Mishuief  hotly. 

Podgurski  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  There  it  is  !  '  Only  too  ready.'  There  would  be  no 
such  word  as  '  too  '  in  my  case  if  I  wanted  to  tell  all  my 
troubles  to  Opaloff.  But  with  you  it's  '  only  too  ready  '  ! 
You  seem  to  think  that  it's  condescending  on  your  part 
to  speak  to  me  with  perfect  frankness.  You  are  really 
ashamed  of  being  so  candid.  Come,  now,  isn't  that  a 
fact  ?  " 

There  was  a  certain  covert  animosity  in  Podgurski's 
tone,  as  he  added  triumphantly  ;  "  But  you  don't  notice 
this  yourself,  I  am  sure  !  " 

"  The  fact  is,"  replied  Mishuief  gravely,  raising  his 
broad  shoulders,  "  you  would  never  have  noticed  this 
in  anybody  else,  but  you  can't  forgive  it  in  me.  You 
listen  to  what  I  say,  yet  I  am  sure  that  you  look  upon 
me  as  a  poseur,  or  even  as  an  absolute  fool." 

At  this  Podgurski  showed  some  confusion.  He  smiled 
uneasily. 

"  I  can't  deny  that.  There  is  certainly  something  in 
what  you  say." 

"  Yes,"  added  Mishuief,  nodding  his  head.  "  You 
will  not  understand  that  I  am  heartily  glad  to  talk  to 
you  just  because  your  behaviour,  good  or  bad,  is  in  no 
way  influenced  by  the  fact  that  I  possess  millions." 

"  Oh  !  I  quite  believe  that,"  was  Podgurski's  answer. 
Then  both  were  silent,  aware  that  there  was  a  latent  note 
of  insincerity  in  their  talk.  Mishuief  became  sullen  and 
depressed,  while  Podgurski  felt  irritable. 

"  He's  simply  mad  1  "  he  thought.  This  discussion, 
false  as  it  was,  served  to  make  him  furious  with  Mishuief. 

Through  the  open  window  there  was  a  vision  of  the 
dark,  undulating  ocean,  and  from  the  shore  faint  sounds 
arose  of  tramping  horses  and  of  distant  music,    Podgurski 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  69 

felt  that  he  ought  instantly  to  continue  the  conversation, 
but  at  the  moment  found  nothing  to  say.  Mishuicf 
sighed  heavily. 

"  Well,  I  must  go,"  he  said. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?     Won't  you  stop  a  bit  longer  ?" 

"  No,  I've  got  a  headache.     Good-bye  !  " 

Podgurski,  with  an  imperceptible  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
thought  to  himself  irritably  :  "  Deuce  take  it  !  What 
a  dull  fellow  he  is  !  " 

In  that  moment  he  spied  the  pocket-book  which  Mis- 
huief  had  left  lying  on  the  table.  He  wanted  to  call 
him  back,  yet  something  deterred  him. 

On  reaching  the  street  Mishuicf  lounged  along  in  the 
direction  of  the  gardens.  He  seemed  to  have  a  sinister 
recollection  of  something  strange  that  disturbed  him. 
Was  it  of  his  recent  futile  talk  with  a  young  scamp,  or 
of  a  sudden  movement  after  he  had  turned  his  back  to 
leave  the  cafe  ?     What  could  it  be  ? 

Suddenly  he  remembered  that  he  had  forgotten  his 
pocket-book.  Before  he  was  absolutely  conscious  of 
this,  he  felt  that  something  horrible  must  have  happened. 
He  walked  faster,  till  the  thought  that  Podgurski  would 
certainly  steal  the  money,  pained  him,  and  he  at  once 
returned  to  the  restaurant. 

As  he  entered,  he  almost  collided  with  the  young  man, 
whose  insolent  and  yet  confused  expression  was  enough 
to  confirm  Mishuief's  suspicions. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Mishuief  said  bluntly  :  "  I  left 
my  pocket-book  behind." 

Podgurski's  eye-lids  twitched,  and  he  appeared  eager 
to  join  in  the  search.  "  Oh  !  really  ?  I  didn't  sec  it. 
Waiter  1  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Mishuief  gently. 

"  Doesn't  matter  ?     It  must  surely  be  there  !  " 

Podgurski  became  nervous  and  restless ;  his  eyes 
resembled  those  of  a  trapped  fox  that  is  ready  at  any 
moment  to  bite. 

Mishuief  looked  him  full  in  the  face." 

"  It  really  doesn't  much  matter  to  me,"  he  said  with 
some  hesitation.     He  only  wanted  Podgurski  to  under- 


70  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

stand  that  he  would  not  be  angry  with  him  about  this 
cursed  money,  if  only  the  fellow  would  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it. 

But  Podgurski's  face  showed  greater  fury ;  even  his 
teeth  were  visible. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  I  tell  you  I  didn't 
see  anything  !  " 

Mishuief  gave  the  fellow  a  cursory  glance,  smiled,  and 
then,  with  a  gesture  as  if  to  shake  him  off,  went  out. 


VIII 

When  Mishuief  reached  home  and  had  sat  doAvn  at  his 
bureau  to  go  through  a  pile  of  letters  and  telegrams, 
Maria  Sergeievna  entered,  fresh  and  radiant  as  ever. 
It  was  as  if  with  her  entrance  she  brought  the  fragrance 
of  the  hills  and  flowers,  and  the  fresh,  pungent  savour 
of  the  sea.  Yet  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  smiling  face,  before 
she  had  uttered  a  word,  he  read  the  lie.  Falsehood  and 
fear  were  what  he  saw  there ;  a  fear  that  only  beautiful 
women  know.  This  subtle  game,  where  beauty,  helpless- 
ness and  lying  have  a  part,  gives  to  them  a  moving  and 
a  mysterious  charm. 

She  called  him  by  name  and  tripped  somewhat  too 
vivaciously  towards  him,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Ah  !  so  you've  come  back,  darling  ?  I've  been  longing 
to  see  you." 

Mishuief  gazed  in  her  dark,  shining  eyes.  Suspicions 
flashed  across  his  mind.  For  a  moment  he  felt  irresolute 
and  exhausted. 

"  Oh  !  you've  no  idea  how  charming  it  was  there  ! 
We  motored  over  to  Sinferopol — ever  so  far.  The  whole 
way  there  we  sang  and  laughed  and  joked  ;  and  then 
afterwards  we  had  supper  at  Gourief." 

Mishuief  looked  at  her  and  said  nothing.  The  slightest 
flush  was  perceptible  on  her  delicate  cheek;  her  form 
became  more  supple,  like  that  of  a  cat,  and  there  was 
a  false  gleam  in  her  eyes. 

"  No,  but  tell  me,  you're  not  angry,  Feodor,  are  you, 
because  I  go  off  for  these  jaunts  ?  I  know  that  I've 
neglected  you  shamefully.  Why  didn't  you  come,  too  ? 
It  was  delightful.  But,  without  you,  it's  not  the  same 
thing,  somehow  !  "  She  attempted  to  kiss  him,  as  her 
lithe  body  swayed  towards  him. 

Mishuief  recoiled. 

"  Look  here,  Mary  ;  no  hypocrisy,  please  !  "  he  blurted 
out. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

n 


72  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

Maria  Sergeievna  opened  her  eyes  wide,  as  if  honestly 
amazed,  but  one  could  read  in  them  more  plainly  than 
ever  mean,  feminine  falseness. 

"  I  can  see  that  you've  been  doing  something  or  other," 
he  said  confidently.  "  So  you  needn't  tell  lies  about  it, 
but  I  advise  you  to  say  frankly  what  it  is.  That  will  be 
best." 

Maria  laughed  a  little  false  laugh,  and  again  sought 
to  let  her  physical  charm  assert  its  wonted  influence. 
But,  contrary  to  custom,  it  only  roused  Mishuief's  anger. 

"  None  of  that !  Stop  it,  I  tell  you  !  "  he  said,  thrusting 
her  aside. 

"  How  extraordinary  you  are  to-day  !  Why  are  you 
so  upset  ?  "  Maria  Sergeievna  affected  astonishment 
and  now  forcibly  tried  to  embrace  him,  but  so  roughly 
did  he  push  her  backwards  that  she  seemed  in  pain,  and 
there  was  a  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes.  "  Good  gracious  !  " 
she  exclaimed. 

"  Now,  then,  out  with  it !  "  he  shouted,  in  a  fury. 

Maria  started  back  in  alarm,  yet  her  false  eyes  still 
encountered  his. 

"  Oh  !  it's  nothing  !  A  mere  nothing.  I  hadn't  meant 
to  tell  you  at  first." 

A  cold  shiver  passed  across  Mishuief's  forehead.  He 
felt  that  in  a  wild  outburst  of  fury  he  might  lose  his 
self-control,  and  that,  if  she  did  not  speak  out,  something 
awful  would  occur. 

She  herself  appeared  sensible  of  this,  for  she  approached 
him  cautiously  and  let  her  slender  finger-tips  rest  on 
his  elbow. 

"  Well,  you  see  .  .  .  now,  you  mustn't  be  angry  .  .  . 
it  was  just  this.  .  .  .  We  had  supper  at  Gourief,  on  the 
balcony,  you  know,  looking  on  to  the  sea ;  it's  such  a 
lovely  place,  and  then.  ..." 

She  kept  dragging  out  her  story  and  all  the  while 
pressed  his  elbow  gently,  tentatively,  with  her  pretty 
littleffingers.     Mishuief  could  feel  how  they  trembled. 

"  Get  on  with  it,  do  !  "  he  roared. 

Maria  almost  collapsed.  Her  eyes  became  perfectly 
round,  scared  as  those  of  a  cat. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  73 

"  You  see,"  she  stammered  hurriedly,  never  moving 
from  the  spot,  "I  met  Vassia  there.  ...  I  met  my 
husband  and  he  asked  me  to  come  in,  as  he  wanted  to 
speak  to  me.     I  ought  not  to  have  done  it,  ought  I  ?  " 

The  question  itself  showed  plainly  that  it  needed  no 
answer,  for  she  knew  that  she  ought  not  to  have  gone. 
Another  touch  of  falseness. 

Mishuief  was  silent,  breathing  hard. 

She  gently  approached  him  and  again  fondled  his 
hand.     "  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

The  tone  of  her  voice  showed  that  she  had  foreseen  his 
anger  and  was  now  striving  to  appear  unconscious  of 
having  done  wrong. 

Mad  with  rage,  Mishuief  suddenly  leapt  to  his  feet, 
and  without  a  word  flung  her  from  him.  She  almost  fell 
over  an  arm-chair,  but  with  feline  swiftness  just  managed 
to  slide  into  it  in  time. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  she  began,  as  her 
lips  turned  white. 

"  Kindly  tell  me  this,"  said  Mishuief,  speaking  in  a 
strangely  suppressed  tone,  as  he  looked  at  her  with  cold, 
hate-filled  eyes.  "  Do  you  seriously  think  it  possible 
that  I  should  not  be  angry  with  you  ?  What  is  the  good 
of  all  this  hypocrisy  ?  " 

"  But  what  have  I  done  that  is  wrong  ?  "  she  faltered  ; 
and  this  time  her  helplessness  was  not  assumed. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?     Here "  and  he  paused 

for  a  moment,  painfully  conscious  that  he  would  not 
find  the  right  words.  "  Here ;  I'll  tell  you.  Either 
you  frankly  confess  to  me  that  I  am  nothing  to  you,  and 
that  you  only  came  to  me  as  my  mistress  .  .  .  and  all 
the  while  .  .  .  or  .  .  ." 

Mishuief  never  finished  his  sentence.  Suddenly  he 
felt  pity  for  himself.  He  had  loved  this  woman  so  dearly  ; 
had  sacrificed  for  her  sake  a  friend  to  whom  he  was 
attached ;  and  had  acted  in  a  low,  despicable  way, 
thinking  that  his  lies  and  treachery  would  at  any  rate 
keep  her  near  him.  These  continual  meetings  with  her 
husband  had  often  led  to  the  most  humiliating  outbursts 
of  jealousy.    He  had  even  told  her  once  that  it  was  only 


74  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

for  his  money  that  she  had  given  way  to  his  advances. 
Now,  all  at  once,  he  saw  that  he  had  really  spoken  the 
truth.  She  had  never  loved  him ;  she  loved  the  other 
man,  and  was  ready  to  go  back  to  him  ;  while  to  him, 
Mishuief,  she  was  false  and  deceitful  simply  through  fear. 
He  felt  that  his  position  was  at  once  a  ridiculous  and  a 
foolish  one. 

"  The  lowest  of  cocottes  would  not  have  behaved 
thus !  " 

In  those  words  a  mass  of  the  bitterest,  foulest  invective 
was  concentrated.  He  was  seized  by  an  uncontrollable 
desire  to  strike  her,  and  to  treat  her  with  the  utmost 
brutality,  just  to  show  her  that,  as  she  had  only  come 
to  him  for  his  money,  she  was  now  his  property,  to  do 
what  he  liked  with.  But  when  he  saw  her  look  of  helpless, 
slavish  horror,  it  was  so  intensely  painful  to  him  that 
he  fell  forward  on  the  table,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands, 
anxious  only  to  hear  nothing,  to  forget  all.  For  some 
moments  this  silence  lasted.  Mishuief  did  not  move  ; 
his  massive  head  was  propped  helplessly  on  his  hands  ; 
a  pitiful  sight. 

For  a  long  while  Maria  Sergeievna  stood  motionless, 
watching  him.  Then  the  gentle  light  of  womanly  com- 
passion shone  in  her  eyes.  She  softly  approached  him, 
and  stood  perfectly  still.  Mishuief  could  hear  her  sweet 
breath  come  and  go,  as  soft,  warm  fingers  lightly  touched 
his  hair. 


IX 

Scenes  such  as  this  one  had  occurred  before,  each  one 
becoming  more  violent  than  the  last.  To  Maria  Sergei- 
evna  they  were  inexplicable.  Sometimes  she  thought 
that  Mishuicf  must  be  mad,  and  then  again,  at  times, 
in  a  fit  of  passionate  remorse,  she  accused  herself  of  all 
sorts  of  misdeeds  that  in  calmer  moments  she  would 
never  have  admitted.  She  saw  plainly  the  approach  of 
some  inevitable  mischance,  yet  knew  not  how  to  free 
herself  from  the  nightmare  that  haunted  her.  Quarrels  of 
this  sort  had  latterly  ended  in  hysterics  and  utter  exhaus- 
tion. 

"  We  are  both  going  mad  !  "  she  used  to  exclaim  in  de- 
spair. Sobbing  bitterly  she  would  cling  to  Mishuief  as 
though  for  protection.  This  he  bore  in  silence,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  dark  chasm  where  all  must  inevitably  end. 
So,  in  this  way,  the  present  stormy  scene  had  come  to 
a  close. 

Prostrate  and  tearful,  Maria  lay  beside  him  her  morbid 
longing  for  a  reconciliation  still  unappeased.  At  last 
she  murmured : 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  gone  because  it  worries  you.  But, 
do  believe  me,  I  felt  so  sorry  for  him ;  he  seemed  so 
unhappy,  so  ill !  And  I  wronged  him,  oh  I  wronged 
him ! "  And  to  Mishuief,  whose  brain,  after  such 
emotion,  if  tired,  may  yet  have  become  clearer,  this 
seemed  both  simple  and  natural. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  stammered,  "  I  am  mad,  absolutely 
mad  !  "  And  he  kissed  her  hot,  tear-stained  cheek  in 
a  sudden  access  of  affection,  remorse,  and  self-contempt. 

She  at  once  thought  that  everything  would  now  be 
happily  arranged,  and  that,  after  mutual  explanations, 
the  next  day  would  see  the  beginning  of  a  far  happier  hfe. 
She  showed  intense  eagerness  to  tell  him  all  that  was  in 
her  mind. 

"  I  know  that  your  idea  is  that  I  never  loved  you,  but 
only  came  to  you  because  of  your  money.     You  may  have 

75 


76  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

reason  to  think  so,  for  I  am  silly  and  selfish.  But  it 
is  not  so,  it  really  isn't,  for  I  love  you  more  than  my  life. 
I've  been  fond  of  you  for  ever  so  long.  You're  so  ...  so 
big  and  strong,  and  yet  so  sensitive  !  " 

It  was  now  dusk  in  the  room  and  Maria  Sergeievna's 
face  loomed  white  against  the  dark  sofa-cushions.  Her 
eyes  were  opened  wide  ;  her  voice  had  the  fretful  quality 
of  a  sickly  child's. 

"  It  always  gladdened  me  to  see  that  you  were  conscious 
of  your  own  power,  and  that  others  all  submitted  to  you. 
Of  course  I  was  pleased  when  you  spent  such  lots  of 
money  on  me,  which  I  didn't  deserve.  But,  as  for  rich 
men,  there  are  heaps  of  them,  and,  if  I  liked  .  .  .  but  you 
are  bigger,  stronger  than  any  of  them.  What  we  women 
adore  in  a  man  is  strength,  might !  " 

Moved  now  to  tears,  Mishuief  kissed  her  tenderly, 
proudly  conscious  of  his  power,  feeling  that  she  loved  him 
and  him  alone. 

"  I  am  such  a  silly  thing,  I  don't  know  how  to  explain 
myself  rightly,"  she  murmured.  "My  life  had  been  so 
tedious,  so  monotonous.  It  was  as  if  all  was  at  an  end, 
and  that  there  was  no  prospect,  nothing  to  look  forward 
to.  Then  you  brought  something  powerful  into  my  life, 
and  I  became,  as  it  were,  crazy  with  delight.  I  used  to 
dream  about  you  ;  I  ran  after  you  as  some  little  school- 
girl might  have  done." 

"  And  yet  it  was  not  I  that  really  did  this,"  observed 
Mishuief,  vaguely  desirous  to  get  at  her  inmost  thoughts. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  was  you,  you  !  Big,  strong,  mighty  as  a 
king  !  But  that's  not  the  most  important  thing.  Had 
you  been  poor  I  should  have  given  myself  to  you  just 
the  same.  You  are  all  in  all  to  me  !  "  And  she  nestled 
closer  to  him,  expanding  like  some  blossom  beneath  his 
caresses.  Mishuief  felt  that  there  was  less  and  less  reason 
for  his  previous  suspicion. 

"  I  am  simply  a  despot,  that's  all !  "  he  thought. 

He  hoped  that  she  would  say  more,  and  thus  allay  his 
fears  yet  further.  ^ 

"  Yes,  but  your  husband  was  cleverer  and  more  talented 
than  I  am.     After  all,  what  am  I  ?     What  was  it  that 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  77 

really  made  you  care  for  me  ?     Surely  not  because  I'm  as 
healthy  as  a  bull  ?  " 

He  spoke  thus  contemptuously  of  himself  on  purpose, 
longing  for  her  to  protest  in  passionate  words  that  should 
console  him. 

But  this  question  offended  Maria  Sergeievna  deeply. 
She  did  not  at  first  reply,  as  the  right  words  failed  her. 
In  the  gloom  Mishuief  could  not  observe  the  expression  in 
her  eyes.  During  that  moment  of  suspense  he  was  again 
haunted  by  vague  and  terrible  suspicion. 

Then  she  began  to  explain  why  she  considered  him 
cleverer,  better,  and  more  original  than  anybody  else. 
She  spoke  in  haste,  passionately,  vehemently.  But  he 
always  negatived  her  assertions,  declaring  in  a  false,  spite- 
ful tone  that  her  husband  was  a  most  distinguished  man. 
He  described  him  as  the  soul  of  honour,  thus  casting 
shame  on  himself.  Gradually  her  husband's  familiar 
personality  became  clearer  to  Maria ;  the  sensitive  face 
of  this  kindly  man  whom  still,  without  knowing  it,  she 
loved.  Memories  came  back  to  her  of  their  early  affection, 
their  first  caresses  ;  memories  that  grieved  her  beyond 
measure.  At  last  her  protests  of  love  for  Mishuief 
became  more  and  more  unconvincing.  Proofs  failed  her 
to  show  why  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him.  To  her 
amazement  she  felt  that  it  was  her  husband,  good  and 
true  and  honourable,  who  possessed  her  real  love.  Thus, 
without  words,  the  fact  became  clear  to  her,  though  till 
now  she  had  obstinately,  and  she  believed  honestly,  denied 
it,  that  it  was  her  craving  for  a  new  life  of  show  and  luxury 
that  had  led  to  the  breach.  She  suddenly  ceased  speaking, 
terrified  to  think  that  this  awkward  pause  would  mean  her 
undoing.  Mishuief  waited,  gazing  hopelessly  into  the 
gloom  ;  waited  for  what  he  had  long  foreseen  must  happen. 
She  again  made  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  speak,  and  then 
all  at  once  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why  do  you  torment  me  like  this  ?  I  know  of 
nothing — nothing. ' ' 

Mishuief  made  no  reply.  He  breathed  hard,  and  it 
was  as  if  body,  heart,  and  brain  were  sinking  downwards 
into  sonae  dark,  illimitable  void. 


78  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

Maria  only  sobbed.  Still  he  was  silent  and  waited. 
Then  for  a  moment,  still  weeping,  she  furtively  looked  up. 
A  violent  slap  on  her  face  resounded  through  the  room.^ 

"  Ah  !  "  she  screamed  in  astonishment  and  pain,  being 
half-stunned  for  an  instant. 

"  Drab  1  "  he  cried  hoarsely. 

With  that  he  staggered  away  in  the  darkness,  striving 
to  avoid  contact  with  her  soft,  motionless  form,  and 
knocking  against  the  furniture  as  he  hurried  to  the  door. 

"  It's  all  over,"  said  a  dull  voice  within  him. 

In  the  middle  of  his  study  he  stood  still,  wide-eyed, 
listening  with  feverish  anxiety  for  some  sound  at  the  back 
there.  Yet  all  was  silent  as  the  tomb.  He  was  afraid 
to  move  even  a  finger,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
slightest  motion  would  bring  with  it  death.  His  whole 
spirit  was  immersed  in  grief  too  great  for  speech.  Shame, 
and  a  poignant  sense  of  utter  loneliness,  grim  pity  for 
himself  and  for  her,  were  all  blended  with  a  certain  fiendish 
glee  at  having  at  last  got  his  revenge  upon  some  one, 
though  at  the  cost  of  his  own  destruction. 

"  It's  all  over  !  "  he  said,  with  a  strange  smile.  He 
tried  to  check  this  senseless  smile,  yet  it  broadened 
into  a  convulsive  grin,  as  his  jaws  twitched,  and  his  whole 
countenance  hardened  into  one  hideous,  mad  grimace. 


X 

It  was  a  breezy  day,  and  the  wide  blue-green  ocean  was 
flecked  with  foaming  crests.  All  objects  stood  out  in 
sharp  and  brilliant  relief ;  the  tones  of  the  whole  picture 
seemed  more  intense ;  the  vivid  colours  of  the  ladies' 
dresses  on  the  steamboat ;  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  and  her 
moorings.  The  wind  gave  a  touch  of  capricious  restless- 
ness to  everything,  yet  vast  as  was  its  environment,  the 
little  shining  town  itself  and  its  denizens  had  almost  a 
mimic,  toy-like  effect. 

There  would  be  a  long  while  to  wait  before  the  boat 
started.  Mishuief  and  Marie  Sergeievna  were  both 
feeling  sad  and  ill  at  ease. 

The  crane  rattled  noisily  as  it  swung  heavy  chests 
through  the  air  and  deposited  them  in  the  hold.     Across 
the  gangway  connecting  the  ship  with  the  land  passed  a 
continual    throng    of   gaily  dressed  passengers,    notably 
ladies.     Cries  from  the  ship  were  answered  by  cries  from 
the  shore,  and  flowers  were  flung  across,  that  by  sudden 
gusts  of  wind  were  tossed  into  the  water.     The  ladies 
gripped  their  hats  ;    fluttering  dresses  revealed  dainty 
insteps,   and  the  whole  effect  was  one  of  uncertainty 
and  impatience.      Yet  it  seemed  as  if  the  steamer  would 
never  finish  taking  her  endless  cargo  on  board,  and  start. 
At  times  the  hooter  sounded,  its  hideous  noise  gradually 
overpowering  all  others,  and  when  its  deafening  scream 
became  intolerable,  it  gave  one  short  gasp  and  then  sud- 
denly stopped.     A  strange  silence  ensued  when  the  shrill 
sound  had  died  away  amid  the  distant  hills.     Again  one 
heard  loud  eager  voices  talking,  and  the  rattle  of  the  crane. 

Mishuief  stood  on  deck,  silent  and  heavy-hearted.  He 
felt  that  Maria  kept  repeatedly  looking  at  him  and  he 
could  see  that,  in  her  dark  eyes,  despite  all  efforts  to 
appear  cheerful,  there  were  tears. 

Maria  said  nothing.  Already  yesterday  they  had 
decided  to  part.  After  that  last  awful  scene  what  more 
was  there  to  say  ? 

79 


80  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

"  Ah  !  well,  it's  the  end ;  let  us  hope  that  it  is  !  " 
she  muttered  to  herself,  as  vaguely  her  white-gloved 
hand  tapped  the  bright  brass  deck-rail.  This  nervous 
movement  in  itself  showed  Mishuief  all  that  she  felt  and 
thought ;  it  told  him  of  the  grief  that  was  torturing  her 
little  heart.  He  pitied  her ;  he  felt  that  the  blame 
lay  at  his  door.  Yet  in  his  heart  all  was  vacant.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  go  back,  to  renew  the  former  inti- 
mate, affectionate  life,  or  even  to  imagine  it.  Something 
had  snapped ;  between  them  all  was  cold,  void,  his  one 
desire  now  being  never  again  to  let  things  drag  on  as  in 
this  case.     It  must  all  end  far  sooner  ! 

"  Ah  !  well,"  thought  Mishuief,  as  he  stared  at  the 
garish  crowd,  "  she'll  get  along  all  right  without  me,  and 
she'll  lead  the  same  gay  life,  denying  herself  nothing, 
being  solely  intent  upon  luxury  and  enjoyment." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  would  have  to  find  another 
man  with  whom,  as  once  with  himself,  she  could  fall  in 
love  ;  a  man  who  could  give  her  not  only  honest  affection, 
but  also  gratitude  and  sincere  esteem.  Yet  for  some 
reason  or  other  he  could  not  picture  to  himself  such  a 
man ;  first  it  was  the  round,  black- whiskered  face  of 
Parkhomenko  that  rose  up  before  him,  and  then  that  of 
the  loose-lipped  financier. 

"  That  might  happen,  too,"  thought  Mishuief.  "  She 
exchanged  her  pure  true  love  for  her  husband  for  me. 
Why  ?  Because  I  provided  her  with  new  impressions 
and  the  possibility  of  an  untroubled,  merry  life.  It  will 
now  be  difficult  for  her  to  go  back  to  her  former  one  ;  she 
will  have  to  remain  in  the  new  groove,  happy,  laughing, 
and  devoted  to  dress  and  finery.  So  it  will  go  on  until 
the  glamour  of  life  fades.  The  pity  of  it !  But  for  this 
I  alone  am  to  blame.  Ah  !  well,  I  shall  just  live  on  in  the 
old  way.  It  will  be  horribly  dreary  and  lonely — an 
absolute  blank  !  " 

Again  the  steam-whistle  shrieked.  The  air  quivered, 
the  deck  shook,  and  for  an  instant  it  was  as  if  sea  and  sky 
vibrated  at  the  sound  of  that  inhuman  voice.  There  was 
great  bustling  on  deck  as  passengers  shouted  and  waved 
their  handkerchiefs.     Maria  Sergeievna  grew  pale.     Her 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  81 

dark  eyes  expressed  sad  submission.  Mishuief  felt  a  pang 
at  his  heart.  In  this  last  moment  of  farewell  both  were 
touched  by  the  pathetic  hopelessness  of  it  all. 

It  was  impossible  to  note  the  actual  moment  when  the 
steamer  began  to  move,  yet  suddenly  the  dull-green  strip 
of  water  between  the  steamer  and  the  pier  grew  broader 
and  broader. 

Mishuief,  as  he  stood  on  deck,  strove  for  a  long  time  to 
distinguish  Maria's  graceful  figure  amid  the  crowd.  The 
steam.er  was  now  going  at  full  speed,  and  foam-crested 
waves  lay  between  it  and  the  shore.  The  quay  became 
smaller  and  smaller,  yet  still  Mishuief  could  perceive 
her  little  white  form  touched  by  sunlight  and  buffeted  by 
the  breeze.  And  as  the  view  of  the  little  town  and  the 
quay  and  Maria  swiftly  melted  into  a  mimic  panorama,  he 
felt  a  sharp  stab  at  his  heart,  knowing  that  in  the  whole 
wide  world  he  stood  alone. 

His  former  life  had  abruptly  ended  ;  it  had  vanished 
for  ever  in  yonder  blue  distance.  Before  him  lay  the 
vast  tumultuous  sea. 

"  Well,  be  it  so,"  he  thought.  "  Perhaps  it  is  for  the 
best.     Somehow  or  other  I  shall  manage  to  pull  through." 

The  scene  on  deck  was  a  bright  and  festive  one,  where 
groups  of  smartly  dressed  ladies,  carrying  bouquets,  were 
laughing,  talking,  and  listening  to  the  band  which  sud- 
denly began  to  play.  Through  the  blue  mist,  green  shores 
and  rosy  hills  could  be  descried.  High  on  a  rocky 
promontory  stood  a  white  convent  like  a  seagull  poised 
above  the  waves.  Mishuief  continued  to  pace  the  deck, 
still  sorrowful  and  hopeless. 

Whither  should  he  go,  and  why  ?  he  thought,  as  he 
glanced  listlessly  at  shore  and  sea  that  to  him  were  such 
a  familiar  sight ;  here,  as  on  the  coasts  of  Italy  and 
Egypt,  yet  that  could  now  no  longer  charm  him  by  their 
azure  loveliness  which  makes  the  human  heart  feci  free 
as  a  bird  on  a  sunlit  summer  morn.  All  that  he  noticed 
was  the  strange  screaming  of  the  gulls  that  followed  and 
accompanied  the  boat, 

p 


XI 

Makia  Sergeievna  stood  in  the  middle  of  her  bathroom 
where  the  walls  and  grey  and  white  tiles  of  the  floor 
reflected  the  cold  electric  light,  and  a  sturdy  maid  was 
lustily  rubbing  her  down  with  a  moist  sponge.  .  .  . 
Heavy  at  heart,  grieved  and  perplexed,  she  seemed  lost 
in  her  thoughts. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  too  cold,  madam  ?  "  asked  the  maid, 
who  noticed  that  her  mistress  shuddered  slightly. 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  ]\Taria  Sergeievna,  starting  back- 
wards and  staring  at  the  girl  with  wild,  sad  eyes. 

"  Isn't  the  water  too  cold,  madam  ?  "  repeated  the  maid. 

"No;  it  is  ah  right." 

Dipping  the  sponge  in  lukewarm  water  the  servant 
continued  the  process  of  vigorous  rubbing  as  before.  To 
Maria  it  was  positive  torture  to  stand  thus  and  be  sham- 
pooed while  her  heart  seemed  broken.  She  longed  to  be 
alone,  to  fling  herself  on  the  bed  and  bury  her  head  in  the 
pillows  ;  to  lie  down  as  the  dead,  and  never  more  to  see, 
or  hear,  or  feel. 

But  she  was  beset  by  domestics  of  the  trained,  im- 
passive sort  that  only  attend  upon  patrician  families, 
and  of  whom  Maria  always  secretly  stood  in  awe,  just  as 
simple,  middle-class  folk  dread  the  flunkeys  of  the 
aristocracy.  They  continually  watched  her,  with  cold, 
inquisitive  eyes. 

She  wished  the  events  of  the  previous  day  to  remain 
hidden,  and  that  none  should  know  that  she  had  been 
cast  off,  her  position  being  merely  that  of  a  mistress,  to  be 
struck  in  the  face,  and  dragged  like  the  veriest  trull 
through  the  mire. 

Ever  since  Mishuief's  departure  she  had  striven  her 
utmost  to  let  nothing  be  known  of  the  rupture.  At  the 
steamboat  she  endeavoured  to  smile  and  look  pleased, 
and  when  she  went  home  with  all  her  grief  she  forced 
herself  to  figure  as  mistress  before  the  servants  and  to  let 
everything  go  on  in  the  house  as  usual,  though  all  the 

82 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  83 

while  she  felt  like  the  slave  of  these  hirelings  who  were 
nothing  to  her.  When  her  maid  politely  said  the  bath  was 
ready,  she  at  once  went  to  the  bathroom,  where,  nude 
and  unspeakably  miserable,  she  submitted  to  the  girl's 
superfluous  and  painful  attentions.  How  the  heart  of 
that  little  woman  ached  as  she  stood  there,  surrounded 
by  light  and  warmth,  under  the  soothing  influence  of 
steam  and  scents  !  Pampered  though  her  body,  in  her 
soul  there  was  a  sense  of  utter  solitude.  To  her  it  was  all 
a  mockery. 

"  That  will  do,  Claudia,  that  will  do  !  "  she  said,  feeling 
that  in  another  moment  she  must  positively  collapse. 

"  But  what  about  the  douche,  madam  ?  "  asked  the 
girl,  as  without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  turned  on  the 
spray  and  with  her  hand  tested  the  temperature  of  the 
water  that  fell  from  it  like  warm  rain. 

Tears  came  into  Maria's  eyes  as  she  stood  under  the 
douche.  When  the  girl  had  swathed  her  in  a  dry,  soft 
bath-wrapper  and  had  left  her  alone  in  the  bedroom,  she 
wrung  her  hands  and  hid  her  face  in  the  pillows,  weeping 
helplessly,  silently,  like  a  child. 

Her  whole  life  passed  before  her ;  bygone  sorrows  and 
dark  forebodings  of  the  days  to  come  ;  bitter  deceptions 
and  the  sense  of  an  appalling,  irreparable  error. 

Never  once  since  her  life  had  undergone  a  fundamental 
change  and  she,  the  wife  of  a  quiet,  kindly  man,  living  in  her 
little,  simple  world,  that  yet  had  its  sunshine,  disappeared 
to  become  a  restless  lady  of  fashion,  revelling  in  luxury 
and  bedecked  with  lace  and  diamonds — never  once  had 
Maria  given  her  former  life  a  thought.  That  pleasant 
happy  time  was  not  to  be  remembered  without  a  pang 
of  remorse  that  would  have  conclusively  disposed  of 
all  remaining  justification  for  her  conduct.  It  had  been 
terribly  tragic  to  see  her  forsaken  husband,  once  so 
infinitely  dear  to  her,  choked  with  emotion,  and  only 
able  to  stammer  out,  "  Little  mother,  little  mother  !  You 
surely  aren't  going  to  leave  your  boy  ?  What  shall  I  do 
without  you  ?  "  Her  heart  seemed  ready  to  break  as  she 
saw  this  grown-up  man  sobbing  bitterly;  and  when  he 
exclaimed,  "  What  shall  I  do  without  you  ?  "  she  suddenly 


84  THE   MILLIONAIRE 

remembered  that  it  had  been  impossible  to  picture  him  as 
he  was,  before  she  had  been  his  wife,  to  pet  and  take  care 
of  him.  In  that  instant  she  saw  all  his  lonehness,  sad- 
ness, and  poverty,  while  she  was  going  to  enjoy  a  life  of 
luxury  and  splendour.  Just  for  one  minute  her  decision 
had  seemed  to  her  to  be  madness.  She  had  embraced 
her  husband,  kissing  him  affectionately,  and  drying  his 
tearful  eyes.  It  was  the  new  life,  full  of  colour  and 
splendour,  that  allured  her  on  the  one  hand,  while  un- 
bounded pity  yet  moved  her  for  this  sorrowing  husband, 
helpless  as  some  forsaken  child.  She  had  felt  that  her 
will-power  was  growing  less  and  less,  and  that  the  dreams 
of  a  new  life,  like  some  dazzling  romance  of  fairy-land, 
were  fading  fast.  To  save  herself  from  flinging  all  to  the 
winds  and  in  order  to  remain,  she  steeled  her  heart  by  a 
touch  of  cruelty  that  for  herself  was  the  most  painful 
of  all.  For  the  last  time  she  surveyed  the  well-known 
room,  the  lamp,  the  marriage-bed,  the  portraits  of  herself 
done  by  her  husband,  the  intimate  surroundings  of  her 
home ;  and  the  vision  of  it  all  cut  her  to  the  heart.  To 
go  away  like  this,  how  horrible  it  seemed  !  Yet  again 
she  mastered  her  emotion  and  went  out.  He  no  longer 
wept,  nor  implored  her  to  stay,  but  sighing  deeply  he 
clutched  at  an  old  cloak  of  hers  that  she  had  left  behind, 
as  if  afraid  that  this  last  relic  too  might  be  taken  from 
him.  That  act  of  his  alone  had  been  horrible  to  witness. 
The  memory  of  it  thrilled  her,  as  the  memory  of  some 
ghastly  crime.  To  escape  from  it  Maria  Sergeievna 
plunged  into  a  mad  whirl  of  gaiety  and  frivolity.  By 
degrees  she  came  to  forget  the  past ;  her  spirits  rose,  and 
she  grew  used  to  a  luxurious  life,  which  really  pleased  her 
much.  Theatres,  balls,  fine  dresses  and  the  society  of 
wealthy  people  provided  her  with  perpetual  enjoyment ; 
an  unending  dream  in  which  she  almost  began  to  believe 
that  she  was  happy.  Yet,  in  certain  rare  moments  when 
alone,  she  thought  of  a  forsaken,  solitary  man  far  away 
tortured  by  everlasting  grief. 

"  How  is  it  with  him  ?  What  is  he  doing  now  ?  "  she 
thought,  grown  sad,  ashamed,  and  then  rushing  out  into 
the  gay  world,  where  she  laughed  and  flirted  as  before. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  85 

Yet  now,  like  dust,  all  the  glitter  had  been  brushed 
from  her  life,  and  before  her  a  chasm  yawned.  She  felt  at 
her  wits'  end,  and  in  her  poor  little  head  there  was  utter 
confusion.  Where  should  she  go  ?  What  should  she 
do  ?  To  whom  should  she  give  her  heart  ?  Everything 
was  at  an  end.  Only  a  deserted  mistress  remained  ;  a 
wife  without  a  name,  or  any  claim  to  regard.  She  had 
ceased  to  count  as  a  human  being ;  she  was  just  a 
thing,  a  rag  that,  having  been  used,  could  be  flung  into 
the  street. 

So,  too,  it  horrified  her  to  feel  that  there  was  no  going 
back ;  no  return  to  the  life  that  hitherto  she  had  led. 
Her  road,  whither  would  it  lead  ? 

"  That  is  retribution  1  "  she  murmured  mechanically, 
"  yes,  retribution  !  " 

On  the  little  table  beside  the  bed  lay  the  money 
which  Mishuief  had  left  for  her.  She  looked  at  it  in 
horror  as,  like  a  caged  animal,  she  convulsively  tore  the 
pillows  with  her  nails. 


XII 

It  was  on  a  rainy  autumnal  day  that  Mishuief  reached 
Moscow.  As  he  left  the  railway-carriage  the  cold,  damp 
air  seemed  to  penetrate  to  his  very  marrow. 

The  huge  square  of  asphalt  in  front  of  the  railway 
station  glistened  like  a  lake  on  which  apparently  wet 
droshkys  were  floating ;  and  shivering  foot-passengers 
splashed  hurriedly  past  him  in  the  slush.  In  the  distance 
behind  the  grey  curtain  of  rain,  countless  roofs  and 
church  cupolas  were  dimly  discernible,  and  little  rain- 
soaked  gardens  opening  on  the  street  looked  doubly 
dreary.  To  Mishuief  it  was  strangely  depressing  to  think 
that  for  days  they  had  been  without  sun  here  ;  there 
was  no  blue  sky,  no  delightful  flowers.  All  these  wet 
people  hurrying  along  appeared  to  be  utterly  weary  of 
hfe ;  and,  if  they  lived  it  was  just  because  they  had  got 
used  to  the  rain,  the  leaden  skies,  the  cold  and  the  damp, 
and  no  longer  heeded  them.  Even  had  they  heard  that, 
somewhere  far  away,  at  this  moment  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly  on  radiant  blue  seas,  and  smiling  fields,  they 
would  never  have  believed  such  a  thing,  but  would  have 
still  gone  splashing  along  through  the  puddles  as  fast 
as  they  could.  Mishuief,  however,  used  as  he  was  to  it 
all,  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  The  tender  beauty 
of  springtime  held  no  charm  for  him,  nor  did  the  grey 
skies  of  autumn  influence  his  mood. 

As  he  had  let  no  one  know  of  his  arrival  at  the  station 
there  were  no  servants  to  meet  him.  His  luggage  he 
entrusted  to  a  porter,  and  drove  home  in  a  droshky, 
shivering  in  the  dark,  damp  vehicle. 

While  yet  at  a  distance  he  recognized  the  well-known 
silver-grey  house.  Its  immense  height  and  its  fayade 
grotesquely  decorated  in  the  modern  style  with  a  huge 
shield  inscribed  "  Mishuief  Brothers  "  at  once  arrested 
attention.  In  front  of  the  cavernous-looking  main 
entrance  there  was  still  the  old  bustle  and  stir.  Dripping 
vanmen  were  packing  and  loading  yellow  cases  from 

86 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  87 

which  damp  straw  peeped  in  places,  while  black  and 
yellow  vans  drove  out  or  in,  and  sounds  of  bitter  wrangling 
and  abuse  floated  on  the  humid  air.  Indoors,  the  vast 
rooms  cold  as  the  yards  outside,  with  huge  windows, 
were  lighted  by  dull-green  electric  lamps.  Rows  of  heads 
stooped  over  papers  that  rustled,  and  there  was  a  clatter 
of  slates, 

"The  same  old  routine,"  thought  Mishuicf,  almost  as 
if  he  had  expected  to  find  something  different. 

Having  deposited  his  things,  he  walked  through  the 
whole  counting-house.  As  always  on  these  occasions 
when  he  found  himself  amid  these  formal  surroundings, 
his  face  assumed  a  cold,  haughty  expression,  as  if  he 
wished  to  mark  the  vast  difference  between  himself  and 
all  others. 

Well-dressed  and  of  smart  appearance,  all  the  employes 
hastily  rose  amid  general  silence  and  bowed,  Mishuief 
acknowledged  this  by  a  slight  nod.  Many  of  them  he 
did  not  know,  nor  had  he  the  slightest  recollection  of 
ever  having  seen  any  one  of  them  before.  It  was  only 
the  head  clerk,  a  bald-headed  veteran,  with  a  face  like  a 
crumpled  bank-note  or  an  eikon,  greeted  him  as  follows  : 
"  Welcome  home,  Feodor  Ivanovitch  !  Your  brother's  in 
his  office.  He's  been  expecting  you  back  for  a  long  while. 
Did  you  have  a  pleasant  journey  ?  " 

Mishuief  could  not  help  smiling.  To  Yalta  and  back 
seemed  to  him  a  fairly  short  trip  ;  yet  he  recollected  that 
to  this  old  clerk,  who  had  spent  his  whole  life  mewed  up 
in  a  counting-house,  a  journey  of  that  sort  seemed  nothing 
short  of  fabulous. 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  pretty  fair,"  he  said  coolly  and  yet 
not  unkindly,  as  he  shook  hands  and  passed  on. 

Bent  over  a  monumental  desk,  his  brother  Stepan 
Ivanovitch  Mishuief  sat  writing,  while  with  his  left  hand 
he  tapped  a  large  slate.  A  faint  light  from  the  window 
fell  on  his  large  bald  head.  In  the  room  there  was  a 
general  gloom.  It  looked  tedious  and  dull  as  some 
gigantic  ledger  within  whose  pages  a  human  being  was 
crawling  about. 

When  Mishuief  entered  his  brother  looked  up  with  his 


88  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

wonted  expression  of  dull  discontent.  To  the  former  the 
glance  seemed  an  unpleasant  sort  of  greeting,  but  when 
Stepan  looked  more  attentively,  his  features  relaxed  in 
a  faint  smile.     "  So  you've  come  at  last !  "  he  said,  rising. 

The  brothers  kissed  each  other.  Stepan  was  as  tall  and 
heavily  built  as  Mishuief,  but  his  face  was  sallow,  and 
unhealthy  looking ;  there  were  shrivelled  bags  under  his 
eyes,  and  his  voice  sounded  hollow  and  faint,  as  if  he 
were  dead  beat. 

"I'm  very  glad  that  you've  come,"  began  Stepan 
Ivanovitch  after  they  had  sat  down  facing  each  other 
and  had  lit  their  cigars.  "  Glad  for  various  reasons. 
First,  of  course,  I  wanted  to  see  you,  and  then,  j^^our 
presence  is  absolutely  necessary,  because  at  the  works 
things  are  in  a  shocking  state.  Besides,  there  is  a  personal 
reason.  But  of  that  we  will  talk  later."  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch looked  away  for  a  moment  and  again  smiled 
feebly. 

"  You  will  have  seen  in  the  papers,  no  doubt,  that  the 
factory  has  now  been  closed  for  a  fortnight.  I  daresay, 
too,  that  you  know  the  nature  of  the  men's  demands  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  replied  Mishuief  curtly, 

"  Well  ?  " 

Stepan  looked  at  him  with  cold,  searching  eyes,  and  to 
Mishuief  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  not  a  brother  talking  to  a 
brother,  but  the  head  of  a  firm  conferring  with  one  of 
the  shareholders.  He  would  have  been  better  pleased 
not  to  discuss  these  matters,  but  Stepan  was  waiting  for 
his  answer,  so  controlling  himself,  he  said  : 

"  Il-m  !  I  think  that  in  many  ways  they  are  quite 
just." 

Involuntarily  he  blinked  his  eyes  and  glanced  aside, 
certain  that  at  this  Stepan  Ivanovitch  would  prick  up  his 
ears.  The  latter  still  looked  hard  at  him,  and  it  was  a 
long  time  before  he  spoke,  as  if  the  effort  were  too  much 
for  him.     Then  he  said  ; 

"  Good.  But  may  I  ask  you  if  you  quite  realize  that 
these  terras,  in  the  present  state  of  the  market,  will  ruin 
us?" 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  that,"  replied  Mishuief.     "  All 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  89 

I  said  was  that  the  men's  demands  were  just.  Whether 
they  arc  profitable  to  us  or  not  is  another  matter." 

"  Yes,  a  very  different  matter,"  was  the  dry  response. 
"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  just  that  of  which  we  ought 
to  think  first." 

Mishuief  sighed,  as  though  oppressed  by  some  odious 
burden.  Yet,  with  a  desire  to  appear  acquiescent,  he 
said: 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Only  I  think  that  the  justice  of  these 
claims  is  not  altogether  a  side-question.  It  is  one  of 
two  things.  Either  they  are  unjust,  and  in  that  case  the 
only  way  is  to  fight  them,  or  else,  they  are  just,  when  we 
must  think  how  we  can  satisfy  them." 

He  strove  to  keep  calm,  anxious  to  avoid  a  quarrel  of 
any  kind.  Yet,  while  speaking,  he  felt  the  old  anger  that 
galled  him.  He  noticed  that  his  brother,  as  usual,  only 
listened  to  a  part  of  what  he  said.  Just  those  things 
which  moved  him  most  Stepan  disregarded  as  unnecessary 
and  superfluous,  saying  nothing,  but  fixing  on  Mishuief 
his  cold,  hard  eyes.  Then,  sighing,  he  drummed  on  the 
edge  of  the  table  with  his  fingers,  and  said  in  a  forced 


voice 


"  Yes,  yes  ;  we  will  discuss  it  all  later  on.  You  must 
be  tired  after  your  journey.     Have  you  lunched  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Then  come  upstairs  to  my  place." 

Stepan  Ivanovitch  rose  slowly  from  his  seat.  His 
apartment  on  the  upper  floor  was  a  small  one.  It  seemed 
strange  that  of  this  whole  huge,  comfortable  house,  only 
one  little  corner  should  be  really  his,  where  he  could 
enjoy  rest  and  refreshment.  Everywhere  else,  above, 
below,  on  all  sides,  strangers  swarmed,  like  bees  in  a 
mammoth  hive  who,  many  of  them,  never  even  knew 
Stepan  Ivanovitch  Mishuief  by  sight,  nor  if  he  really 
existed  and  were  not  merely  a  myth. 

There  was  a  chilly  look  about  the  dining-room  with 
its  old  oak  furniture  ;  and  this  cold,  lifeless  effect  was 
heightened  by  the  white  napery  and  the  paflid  light  that 
came  in  through  the  windows. 

"  Well,  so  you  had  a  good  journey,  eh  ?  "  asked  Stepan 


90  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

Ivanovitch,  trying  still  harder  to  purse  his  dry  lips  into 
a  pleasant  smile.  He  was  fond  of  his  brother,  and  pitied 
him  for  being,  as  he  thought,  morbidly  eccentric. 

"  And  Where's  your  Maria  Sergeievna  now  ?  "  Stepan 
Ivanovitch  smiled,  without  looking  at  his  brother. 

"  She's  staying  on  there  ...  for  the  present,"  replied 
Mishuief.  Suddenly  something  seemed  to  stab  his  heart 
like  a  knife.  Somewhere,  far  away,  he  could  see  the  little 
forsaken  woman  that  he  loved  and  that  loved  him,  and 
that  had  now  gone  out  of  his  life  for  ever.  To  him  now 
she  seemed  an  utter  stranger,  as  if  they  had  never  loved, 
never  kissed,  never  felt  that  they  were  all  in  all  to  each 
other. 

Why  this  had  to  be  Mishuief  in  this  moment  could  not 
imagine.  All  that  then  he  had  thought  horrible  and 
insufferable  now  seemed  trivial  and  exaggerated.  Yet  he 
felt  that  it  could  not  have  happened  otherwise.  Striving 
to  master  his  feelings  and  not  to  notice  the  gnawing  pain 
at  his  heart,  he  began  to  recount  some  of  his  experiences 
in  the  South,  and  to  ask  for  all  the  latest  Moscow  news. 
Large  and  massive,  the  two  brothers  sat  down  opposite 
each  other,  imposing,  as  it  were,  their  appalling  weight 
upon  the  floor  and  all  that  swarmed  beneath  it.  On  its 
polished  surface  the  cold  grey  light  gleamed,  as  on  the 
silver  and  china,  while  the  amber  wine  sparkled  as  if  that 
alone  held  gladsome  sunshine  on  this  dripping,  desolate 
day. 

After  lunch  a  sense  of  warmth  made  conversation 
easier.  Mishuief,  with  folded  arms,  leaned  on  the  table 
as  Stepan  Ivanovitch,  assuming  an  easy  attitude,  began 
as  follows : 

"  I've  had  a  rather  unpleasant  experience  lately,  and 
as  you  know  more  about  these  things  than  I  do,"  he  said 
with  an  awkward  smile,  "  I  want  to  ask  your  advice." 

Mishuief  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  There  was  a  girl  who  came  here,  you  know,  as  cashier. 
Young  and  very  pretty.  Well,  you'll  see  her  for  yourself, 
because  I  am  anxious  that  you  should  go  and  pay  her  a 
visit." 

Stepan  Ivanovitch  lit  a  cigar,  and  the  bags  under  his 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  91 

eyes  became  puckered  as  he  blinked  through  the  smoke. 
It  evidently  pained  him  to  tell  this  story  ;  he  felt  that 
it  made  him  appear  ridiculous. 

Mishuief  looked  at  him  in  amusement  and  surprise. 
A  pretty  girl,  not  a  cocotte,  not  a  chanteuse  ! 

So  absolutely  out  of  keeping  with  Stepan  Ivanoviteh's 
personality  did  this  sound  that  one  might  imagine  that  he 
was  joking. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Mishuief,  endeavour- 
ing to  hide  his  astonishment. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  .  .  .  Why,  I've  been  intimate 
with  her.  Now  you've  got  it  1  said  Stepan  Ivanovitch 
with  an  effort. 

"  And  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  seem  able  to  explain  the  whole  thing  properly 
to  you.  You  know  how  I've  worked  all  these  years,  and 
that  romance  was  never  in  my  line.  But  I  can't  deny 
that  this  girl  has  brought  something  new,  something 
fresh  into  my  life." 

Before  Mishuief  the  image  rose  of  a  pretty  little  girl 
with  a  soft  dainty  chin  that  involuntarily  one  was  eager 
to  kiss.  Possibly  she  had  a  silvery  laugh,  and  had  given 
herself  heedlessly  to  Stepan  Ivanovitch,  never  even 
noticing  that  he  had  a  bald  head,  a  shrivelled  countenance, 
and  a  dull,  commercial  mind.  Perhaps,  though,  she  had 
perceived  this,  and  had  striven  to  cheer,  and  enliven  his 
life,  to  share  with  him  all  her  wealth  of  youthful  joy. 

"  She  really  seems  fond  of  me,  too,"  continued  Stepan 
Ivanovitch.  "  Of  course  she  at  once  tried  all  she  could 
to  turn  me  into  a  social-democrat !     Ha  !     Ha  1  " 

He  laughed  a  false  kind  of  laugh  in  which  there  was 
yet  a  touch  of  tenderness. 

"  H'm  I  " 

Mishuief  could  not  help  smiling.  He  felt  quite  sorry 
for  the  simple  little  girl. 

"  But  that's  not  the  worst  of  it.  The  fact  is,  that 
she's — well,  what's  the  word  for  it  ? — that's  she's  in  the 
family  way." 

"  Aha  I  "  Mishuief 's  eyes  softened  with  compassion. 

"  And  it  becomes  more  and  more  plain  to  me  that 


92  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

her  position  in  my  life  will  have  to  be  reckoned  with. 
I've  begun  to  be  afraid  of  quarrelling  with  her,  and  so  I 
give  in.  In  business  matters,  too,  she  interferes,  shows 
temper,  and  states  terms.  ...  In  short,  it  is  time  to  put 
a  stop  to  it  all !  said  Stepan  Ivanovitch,  breaking  off 
suddenly,  as  the  former  cold,  dull  look  came  into  his  eyes. 
"  Why  put  a  stop  to  it  ?  "  asked  Mishuief  gently  and 
considerately.     "  I  suppose  you're  tired  of  her,  eh  ?  " 

"  Tired  of  her  ?     Not  a  bit  of  it !     On  the  contrary, 

I  feel  certain  that  I  should  be  awfully  dull  without  her." 

The  speech  sounded   dry  and   commonplace,   yet  to 

Mishuief  there  was  a  deeper  note  in  it  to  which  he  warmly 

responded. 

"  Then  why  worry  yourself  about  it  ?  Go  on  living 
with  her  as  before." 

"  Unfortunately  she's  not  one  of  that  sort.  She'll 
expect  to  have  a  recognized  place  in  the  eyes  of  the  world 
• — not  to  remain  just  a  mistress." 

"  Then  let  her  have  it  by  all  means.  Marry  her,  and 
I  daresay  you'll  be  happy." 

Mishuief  smiled  again.  But  the  expression  of  benign 
perplexity  on  his  brother's  face  changed.  The  hard, 
commercial  look  came  back, 

"  If  I  wanted  to  marry  I  shouldn't  choose  a  wife  who 
would  sit  at  my  desk,  make  a  helmet  of  all  my  business- 
papers,  and  laugh  and  cry  at  the  same  time." 

Mishuief  imagined  what  his  brother  would  look  like 
with  a  paper  cap  on  his  head,  and  laughed  aloud. 

With  an  awkward  gesture  of  annoyance  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch turned  away. 

"  Yes,  you  may  laugh  ;  but  it's  no  laughing  matter  for 
me.  I  can't  forgive  myself  for  having  been  such  a  fool. 
I  ought  never  to  have  let  things  get  to  such  a  pitch  .  .  , 
and  that's  why  I  am  obliged  to  ask  you  to  go  and  see  her, 
and  come  to  some  sort  of  arrangement.  Can  you  do 
this  ?  " 

Mishuief  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  felt  suddenly 
sorry  for  his  brother  into  whose  sterile,  lifeless  soul,  as 
by  magic,  a  golden  light  had  come  which  he  now  desired 
to  shut  out. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  93 

"  Why  ?  "  thought  Mishuief.  "  So  that  he  may  go  on 
sitting  at  his  desk  and  poring  over  accounts  and  bills  of 
exchange,  and  leading  the  old  dull  life  ?  What  on 
earth's  the  good  of  that  ?  "     But  he  answered : 

"  Of  course  I  can.  But  why  should  I.  Is  there  no 
other  way  but  that  of  settling  things  ?     Perhaps.  .  .  ." 

By  the  strange  look  of  pain  on  his  brother's  face 
Mishuief  saw  that  all  remonstrance  would  be  useless. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  say,"  began  Stepan  Ivanoviteh 
suddenly,  "  that  I  cannot  understand  how  things  are  ? 
Supposing  that  I  were  not  a  millionaire,  and  that  she  had 
not  had  the  opportunity  of  remoulding  the  soul  of  a 
millionaire,  well,  what  then  ?  Do  you  think  that  she 
would  then  become  fond  of  me  ?  That  sort  of  thing's 
not  exactly  in  my  line," 

He  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Why  a  millionaire  ?  "  asked  Mishuief. 

"  Oh  !  Well,  that  hardly  needs  explaining,"  replied  the 
other  without  looking  up.  Then  after  a  pause,  he  said, 
"  Let  us  talk  about  something  else." 

Mishuief's  heart  ached.  His  thoughts  reverted  to 
the  past.  The  picture  he  had  evoked  of  a  cheerful  little 
wife  grew  dim  and  slowly  faded.  He  sighed  deeply ; 
and  in  his  jaded  eyes  there  was  the  look  of  one  who  holds 
within  him  death. 


XIII 

Towards  evening  Mishuief  drove  out  to  see  his  friend 
Nicolaief.  The  first  snow  had  fallen,  and  though  much 
of  it  had  melted,  on  hedges  and  banks  it  still  lay  in  white, 
fleecy  patches.  The  air  in  the  streets  was  fresh,  buoyant, 
and  the  bells  of  all  the  churches  began  to  ring  for  evening 
prayer  as  if  the  entire  city  of  Moscow  had  but  one  melo- 
dious brazen  voice.  On  Mishuief  the  effect  was  exhilarat- 
ing after  that  long,  depressing  interview  with  his  brother. 
His  splendid  horses  bore  him  past  the  large  pools  of  water 
in  the  streets.  Each  with  its  edge  of  snow,  these  black 
lakes  yet  reflected  golden  gleams,  and  beside  them  moved 
unceasingly  a  lively,  joyous  crowd. 

So,  too,  Mishuief 's  heart  felt  glad  and  full  of  expectancy ; 
for  he  thought  of  Nicolaief,  with  his  broad  shoulders, 
dishevelled  locks,  and  jovial  voice.  Already  he  felt  the 
gladness  of  their  meeting  and  heard  their  brisk  questions 
and  replies  that  preceded  hearty,  honest  talk,  which  for 
much  that  grieves  can  provide  an  outlet  and  a  cure. 
Mishuief  thus  looked  happier  ;  for  a  long  while  past  he 
had  not  felt  so  strong,  so  sure  of  himself. 

It  was  an  unpleasant  surprise,  however,  on  reaching 
Nicolaief's  house,  to  find  rows  of  hats  and  coats  hanging 
up  in  the  hall,  and  to  hear  a  brilliant  soprano  voice  singing 
some  operatic  air  in  the  drawing-room,  from  which  the 
penetrating  odour  reached  Mishuief  of  scent  and  of  cigars. 
He  stood  still  outside  the  door  for  a  while.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  that  at  this  time  Nicolaief  was  seldom 
to  be  found  alone.  He  feared  that  the  pleasant  meeting 
and  hearty  talk  would,  after  all,  not  be  his.  But  just 
then  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  Nicolaief  came  striding 
out,  looking  a  regular  Volga  brigand  in  his  blue  shirt  and 
baggy  breeches. 

"  Fedia  I  Aha  !  How  are  you,  my  pigeon  ?  Where 
have  you  been  hiding  away  all  this  time  ?  "  he  cried,  in 
a  voice  that  rang  through  the  house,  as  he  grasped 
Mishuief's  hand,     "  Why  are  you  looking  so  blue  ?  " 

94 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  95 

They  embraced,  and  the  kiss  he  gave  the  other's  honest 
lips  yielded  Mishuief  a  pleasure  far  more  subtle  than  any 
that  he  had  ever  bestowed  on  women. 

"  Well,  you  are  just  the  same,"  he  said,  glancing  affec- 
tionately at  Nicolaief.  Then,  as  they  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  he  whispered  :  "  What  a  host  of  people  you've  got  1 
I  wanted  to  have  a  quiet  chat  with  you." 

"  That's  all  right !  "  replied  Nicolaief,  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand.  "  Don't  you  worry  about  that.  I  get  a  mob 
like  this  every  day  in  my  house ;  I'm  used  to  it  by  now. 
Can't  help  it,  my  dear  chap.  I've  become  a  celebrity 
you  see  !  " 

"  Well,  thank  goodness  that  you  have  I  "  said  Mishuief 
genuinely  pleased,  as  he  glanced  at  Nicolaief  who,  broad- 
shouldered  though  he  was,  appeared  slim  beside  the 
other's  height  and  massive  proportions.  It  was  delightful 
to  be  near  this  jovial,  kindly  fellow,  who,  if  he  loved  him, 
loved  him  solely  for  his  own  sake. 

As  they  came  into  the  drawing-room  a  tall  lady  in 
black  with  grey,  fascinating  eyes  like  those  of  an  actress, 
advanced. 

"  Here,  Lydia,"  cried  Nicolaief  gaily,  "  this  is  my 
friend  Mishuief.  Just  look  at  him  !  Isn't  he  a  colossal 
millionaire  ?  " 

Mishuief  laughed,  and  the  handsome  grey-eyed  lady 
laughed  too.     But  he  did  not  like  to  hear  such  laughter. 

"  Delighted  to  see  you,"  she  said  in  a  musical  voice, 
holding  out  her  plump  white  arm  which  was  bared  to 
the  elbow.  She  then  proceeded  to  introduce  him  to  her 
guests,  of  whom  there  were  many,  yet  their  faces  all  had 
but  one  expression.  Everybody  looked  over-affable, 
with  teeth  displayed  by  a  fixed  smile  and  secret  curiosity 
in  their  eyes.  It  was  just  this  same  face  that  had  haunted 
Mishuief  all  his  life.  He  loathed  it.  Yet  so  delighted 
was  he  at  seeing  Nicolaief  again  that  he  paid  no  heed. 

"  Now,  my  friends,"  said  Nicolaief,  as  he  stood  still 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  "  you  may  sing  and  shout 
and  dance  as  much  as  ever  you  like,  while  my  friend  and 
I  are  going  to  have  a  httle  chat.  Lydia,  will  you  excuse 
us?" 


96  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !  "  cried  his  wife,  as  she  raised 
her  handsome  eyes  as  well  as  both  arms,  the  gesture  being 
obviously  intended  to  produce  an  effect.  "  Go,  by  all 
means,  and  I'll  send  you  in  some  tea." 

As  he  sat  down  in  Nicolaief's  study  on  a  broad  Turkish 
divan,  Mishuief  glanced  round  the  room  with  pleasure. 
It  was  still  just  as  of  yore  ;  the  same  books  and  papers 
piled  up  on  the  floor,  the  table,  and  in  the  cupboards. 
There  was  nothing  except  this  leather-covered  divan 
that  in  any  way  suggested  the  comfort  which  befitted 
a  famous  author's  "  den."  Mishuief  recollected  that  in 
Nicolaief's  rooms  when  as  yet  a  student  and  unknown, 
there  had  been  just  the  same  untidiness  and  confusion. 
He  himself  had  not  altered  in  the  least,  except  that  he 
had  grown  somewhat  stouter. 

Their  talk  from  the  very  outset  was  easy,  natural,  and 
entertaining,  like  everything  else  in  which  Nicolaief  had 
a  share.  In  five  minutes  he  had  heard  the  whole  story ; 
the  rupture  with  Maria  Sergeievna,  the  disagreeable 
meeting  with  Stepan  Ivanovitch,  the  various  adventures 
abroad,  in  hotels,  theatres,  and  museums  ;  and  finally 
the  vague  morbid  fears  that  for  so  long  had  tormented 
Mishuief's  heart. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Nicolaief  sharply,  yet 
not  unkindly,  as  he  strode  up  and  down  the  room.  "  The 
same  sort  of  thing  happens  to  me.  It's  a  long  while 
since  anybody  came  to  me  simply  because  they  liked 
what  I  had  done  or  what  I  had  said.  It's  the  famous 
poet  to  whom  they  want  to  pay  homage  now.  Well,  it 
doesn't  matter  to  me  ;  in  fact,  it's  rather  pleasant.  Man 
is  by  nature  a  slave ;  yet  one  can  always  find  some  men 
who  will  open  their  heart  to  you  simply  and  naturally." 

"  As  regards  yourself  it's  a  different  matter,"  replied 
Mishuief  with  a  touch  of  sadness.  "  You  are  famous  ; 
but  first  and  foremost  you  are  a  poet,  that  is  to  say,  a 
man  who  only  by  the  might  of  his  own  soul  dominates 
other  men  and  draws  them  to  himself.  If  I  knew  that 
there  were  such  a  lot  of  young  fellows  in  Russia  who 
count  themselves  specially  fortunate  not  to  have  a  word 
with  me  even,  but  simply  to   see  me,  I  think  I  should 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  97 

be  utterly  swept  away  by  the  tide  of  their  youthful 
enthusiasm.     Then,  perhaps  I  should  be  happy." 

"  Ah,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  many  to  whom 
you  give  help." 

"  No ;  that's  not  exactly  correct,"  said  Mishuief, 
shaking  his  head.  "  It's  not  I  myself  who  make  this 
money,  and,  after  all,  it  belongs  to  them  in  a  way.  Besides 
those  to  whom  I  give  a  little  money,  hate  me,  and  those 
who  get  a  good  lot  out  of  me  are  angry  because  it  isn't 
more.  They  all  view  with  secret  hostility  any  good  that 
I  can  get  for  myself  by  means  of  my  wealth.  They  seem 
to  think  that  I  am  stealing,  squandering  their  property, 
their  fortune." 

There  was  a  tragic  sound  in  his  voice  as  he  said  this. 
Nicolaief  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  looked 
grave  and  thoughtful. 

"  That  may  be ;  and  yet  it  docs  not  put  you  in  the  right." 
He  tossed  back  his  hair,  as  if  he  had  found  something 
that  he  had  lost. 

He  reminded  Mishuief  that  to  this  wealth,  since  it  had 
come  into  his  hands,  he  was  perfectly  entitled  to  hold 
fast.  Whether  a  millionaire,  brought  into  existence  by 
the  labour  of  the  masses,  had  a  right  to  such  existence 
was  a  matter  of  no  importance.  Millionaires  exist ;  and, 
so  far  from  wishing  to  destroy  them,  other  men  are  ready 
to  submit  to  them.  It  was  within  the  power  of  every 
millionaire,  he  said,  to  commit  crimes  of  the  most  infamous 
description,  just  as  easily  as  to  do  good  to  his  fellow- 
creatures.  Mishuief  had  chosen  the  latter  course,  and 
no  sensible  man  could  possibly  mistake  his  intentions. 

As  he  spoke,  Nicolaief  became  intensely  animated ; 
his  eyes  shone,  and  he  smiled  genially. 

"  You  have  nearly  ten  thousand  workmen  in  your 
hand,"  he  said,  with  a  fervour  that  seemed  to  emanate 
from  his  inmost  being,  striving  to  make  himself  heard 
above  the  sound  of  the  piano  and  the  tempestuous 
vocal  roulades  that  came  to  them  from  the  adjoining 
room. 

"  But  they  have  not  only  you  as  their  master ;  your 
brother  owns  them  as  well.     Why  hasn't  he  done  what 

Q 


98  THE    MILLIONAIRE 

you  do  ?  Or  why  don't  you  do  as  he  does  ?  Every 
kopeck  that  you  give  to  your  workmen  you  give  of  your 
own  free  will.  Nobody  can  force  you  to  do  it.  Now, 
do  you  suppose  that  the  workmen  don't  know  this  ? 
They  know  a  good  deal  more  than  we  do." 

Mishuief  looked  at  him  trustfully. 

"  When  the  news  was  published  of  your  suicide  the 
workmen  would  not  believe  it.  One  of  them  said  to  me, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  '  That's  not  possible.  Such  a  man 
as  that  would  never  take  his  own  life.  He  is  just  hiding 
awaj^  somewhere  from  enemies  ;  and  when  the  time  comes 
he'll  turn  up.'  So  now  you  know  !  "  cried  Nicolaief 
enthusiastically. 

Mishuief  felt  himself  trembling  from  head  to  foot 
through  sheer  joy.  All  at  once  he  seemed  to  be  confronted 
by  a  vast  crowd  of  these  docile,  harassed,  hungry  workmen, 
as  a  veritable  sea  of  trustful  eyes  turned  to  his.  He  could 
see  himself,  too  ;  not  his  usual  gloomy,  melancholy  self, 
but  an  energetic,  benevolent  man,  firm  of  purpose,  sure 
of  his  goal.  The  thought  that  his  life  of  personal  in- 
fluence had  ended  stabbed  him  like  a  knife,  yet  the 
momentary  pain  of  that  reflection  was  lost  in  a  host  of 
other  jarring  sensations. 

"  Oh,  brother,"  he  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  it  was 
not  in  vain  that  I  had  you  so  much  in  my  thoughts  and 
longed  for  this  meeting  !  " 

Nicolaief  smiled  pensively.  For  a  while  both  were 
silent  as  the  brilliant  voice  in  the  drawing-room  ceased. 

Later,  as  Mishuief  sat  down  with  Nicolaief  and  the 
other  guests  at  supper,  both  he  and  his  host  felt  happier 
and  more  animated  than  ever.  The  others  listened  to 
them  in  silence,  almost  in  awe.  Nicolaief  told  Mishuief 
of  an  idea  which  he  had  of  starting  a  new  paper  to  which 
all  the  younger  and  most  brilliant  writers  of  the  day 
should  contribute.  He  proposed  that  ]\Iishuief  should 
finance  the  scheme,  and  the  latter  gladly  agreed  to  do 
so.  All  things  seemed  now  to  be  good,  and  life  worth 
living  since  he  had  felt  the  charm  of  Nicolaief's  in- 
fluence. 

Nicolaicf's  wife,  the  lady  with  the  grey  eyes,  a  well- 


THE    MILLIONAIRE  99 

known  singer,  was  particularly  attentive  to  them  both, 
showing  herself  continually  eager  to  content  her  husband 
by  her  affectionate  sympathy  and  care. 

"  She  seems  to  be  genuinely  fond  of  him,"  thought 
Mishuief;  and  to  her  also,  he  felt  drawn  as  to  a  real 
friend. 

"  How  he  manages  to  attract  people  to  himself  1  Not 
like  me.  ..."     And  he  sighed. 

"  And  may  I  ask,  Sergei  Petrovitch,"  asked  one  of  the 
guests,  as  his  moist  Jewish  eyes  were  turned  inquiringly 
to  Nicolaief,  "  do  you  intend  to  invite  Tchetyriof  to 
contribute  to  your  Living  Thoughts  ?  " 

"  That  we  shall  be  better  able  to  decide  later  on," 
replied  Nicolaief  carelessly,  yet  a  shadow  seemed  to  cross 
his  face  as  he  spoke. 

Mishuief  thought  it  strange  that,  for  a  minute  at  least 
after  this  there  was  a  dead  silence,  while  in  the  large 
grey  eyes  of  the  hostess,  who  with  her  white  hands  was 
passing  a  dish,  he  could  detect  a  flash  of  positive  hatred. 

"Is  he  really  afraid  of  Tchetyriof  ?  "  thought  Mis- 
huief, utterly  astounded. 

He  knew  that  by  many  Tchetyriof  was  held  in  higher 
esteem  than  Nicolaief,  but  had  never  for  a  moment 
imagined  that  to  the  latter  it  signified  in  the  least.  The 
thought  that  Nicolaief  was  jealous  of  a  rival  whom  he 
detested  troubled  him  deeply.  Just  at  that  moment 
he  observed  the  grey  eyes  fixed  on  the  poet  eagerly, 
almost  greedily.  He  said  to  himself :  "  This  woman 
is  only  fond  of  Nicolaief  because  he  is  famous." 

It  hurt  him  deeply  to  think  that  this  could  be  so. 
Then  in  another  moment  the  grey  eyes  beamed  as  before, 
and  Nicolaief  laughed  and  joked  in  his  former  exuberant 
way.  Yet,  somehow,  in  spite  of  all  this,  Mishuief  could 
not  feel  as  light-hearted  as  at  first,  when  he  drove  home 
at  a  late  hour  through  the  empty  streets  of  dreaming 
Moscow.  Here  and  there,  in  the  dim  lamplight,  he 
discerned  the  nebulous  form  of  some  prostitute  loitering 
at  the  edge  of  the  pavement,  and  this  did  but  add  to  his 
spiritual  unrest,  as  thoughts  vague  and  disquieting 
revolved  within  his  mind. 


XIV 

White  snow  furnished  a  background  for  the  square-built, 
smoke-stained  factory  sheds,  black  chimneys,  and  fences, 
as  also  for  the  surging  mob  itself,  which,  rabid  and  ready 
to  resist,  filled  the  j'^ard  and  the  adjoining  streets  ;  a 
grimy,  hostile  crowd. 

The  factory  was  in  the  hands  of  the  strike-committee. 
The  yard  was  one  living  mass  of  red,  excited  faces  and 
waving  arms.  The  troops  and  police,  who  had  been 
called  out,  took  up  their  positions  on  both  sides  of  the 
streets,  forming  regular  lines  of  grey  and  black  ;  and 
from  a  distance  one  could  see  the  horses  restlessly  tossing 
their  heads,  and  officers  in  their  grey  uniforms  running 
over  the  snow. 

Only  one  approach,  the  one  from  the  Moskva,  had 
been  left  open,  and  from  this  direction  crowds  of  other 
workmen  came  trooping  in. 

Hastily  summoned  by  telephone,  Mishuief  drove  up 
in  a  one-horse  droshky,  going  straight  into  the  yard. 
He  looked  pale  and  his  lips  quivered.  He  had  been 
suddenly  roused  that  morning  without  sufficient  time 
to  think  out  what  he  should  do.  He  only  felt  a  vehement 
desire  to  set  matters  straight  and  believed  that  he  would 
succeed.  He  knew  that,  if  it  were  in  any  way  possible 
to  influence  the  malcontents,  it  was  he  alone  that  could 
do  it ;  so  that,  allied  to  his  nervous  excitement,  was  the 
firm  belief  that  the  workmen  would  follow  him  and  that 
he  would  be  able  to  avert  a  catastrophe. 

Already  at  a  distance  he  had  heard  the  dull  roar  of 
many  voices,  interrupted  by  occasional  shrill  exclama- 
tions. As  the  horse,  going  at  full  trot,  swerved  into  the 
yard,  the  din  was  deafening.  He  hastily  glanced  round 
at  the  sea  of  faces  and  the  red  walls  of  the  building,  from 
all  the  windows  of  which  hands  were  waved  excitedly. 
He  stood  up  in  the  droshky,  w^hich  creaked  beneath  his 
weight,  and  then  he  sank  back  heavily  in  his  seat.  At 
his  appearance  the  uproar  suddenly  ceased,  and  only  at 

100 


THE    MILLIONAIRE        101 

the  back  of  the  crowd  some  discontented  murmurs  and 
shouts  could  be  heard.  His  arrival  had  been  observed 
from  the  windows  of  the  manager's  office,  and  Schanz, 
the  head  manager,  white  and  distraught,  appeared  at 
the  top  of  the  stone  steps  with  a  military  policeman  on 
either  side  of  him. 

Swept  forward  as  by  some  resistless  tide,  Mishuicf 
rushed  up  the  steps,  took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it. 
Silence  ensued,  as  countless  eager  faces,  both  old  and 
young,  gazed  up  at  him.  Not  a  sound,  except  a 
muffled  noise  on  the  fringe  of  the  crowd  and  in  the  street 
beyond  it. 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  exclaimed  Mishuicf  in  a  clear  firm 
tone,  knowing  that  they  would  listen  to  him,  "  I  have 
only  just  got  back,  and,  as  yet,  I  don't  know  all  the  facts 
of  this  matter.  I  am  at  once  going  to  attend  a  meeting 
of  the  strike-committee  and  the  management,  and  until 
negotiations  are  at  an  end,  may  I  ask  you  not  to  take 
action  in  any  way  ?  You'll  trust  me,  won't  you  ?  Is 
that  all  right  ?  " 

Before  the  crowd  could  utter  cries  of  consent,  somebody 
signalled  from  a  window  on  the  third  floor  of  the  building, 
and  Mishuief  instinctively  felt,  before  he  could  look  closer 
to  see  what  has  occurred,  that  this  was  a  signal  to  the 
men  to  greet  him. 

"  All  right  !     For  your  sake  !  " 

He  hurried  into  the  house,  the  friendly  shouts  of 
thousands  ringing  in  his  ears.  As  he  entered  the  counting- 
house  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  Stepan  Ivanovitch's 
surly  face,  on  which  he  read  hatred,  malice,  and  scorn. 
Stepan  scarcely  glanced  at  his  brother,  but  Mishuief 
walked  straight  up  to  him,  when  he  looked  up  and  said 
drily,  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  things  now  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  think  ?  "  replied  Mishuief  with  emphasis. 
"  Wliy,  that  all  can  be  satisfactorily  arranged,  and  that, 
if  you'll  give  me  a  free  hand,  the  men  will  all  resume 
this  very  afternoon." 

He  looked  his  brother  frankly  in  the  face ;  but  the 
latter's  glance  was  cold,  almost  malignant. 

"  Quite  so,"  he  replied  mockingly,  "  if  wc  are  disposed 


102        THE    MILLIONAIRE 

to  ruin  ourselves  by  this  afternoon  the  men  will  resume 
work  ...  for  three  days." 

Mishuief  turned  round.  The  five  men  present  looked 
at  him  without  speaking,  and  all  their  faces  wore  the 
same  hostile,  dogged  expression. 

"  Enemies,  eh  ?  "  thought  Mishuief,  glancing  at  his 
brother.     "  Good  !     We'll  see  who  gets  the  upper  hand." 

"  Why  ruined  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  concession  of  twenty 
per  cent,  will  eat  up  our  huge  dividend  ?  That's  a  little 
bit  too  much,  eh  ?  " 

It  hurt  him  to  regard  his  brother,  whom  he  always 
had  loved  and  pitied,  as  a  foe. 

"  It's  not  a  question  of  twenty  per  cent.,"  replied 
Stepan  Ivanovitch  coldly.  "  Twenty  per  cent,  won't 
ruin  the  business,  though,  as  things  are  at  present,  it's 
quite  heavy  enough.  Yet  what  guarantee  have  we  that, 
after  this  precious  twenty  per  cent.,  we  shall  not  be 
asked  for  forty  or  fifty  per  cent.  ?  Do  you  really  think 
that  this  twenty  per  cent,  is  any  good  to  them  ?  Why, 
it's  absurd  !  Twenty  copecks  on  a  rouble  means  for 
them  only  another  bottle  of  vodka.  It  is  not  a  question 
of  the  twenty  copecks,  but  of  the  uncompromising  greed 
of  these  people  who  think  they  are  really  entitled  to  a 
hundred  per  cent.,  not  merely  twenty  or  forty,  and  that 
they  have  every  right  to  demand  what  is  theirs  and  to 
kick  us  out  into  the  street." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  talk  like  that  ?  "  said  Mis- 
huief in  an  undertone.  "  The  men  are  starving,  worn 
out  with  work  that  in  two  days  would  utterly  knock  you 
up  ;  and  then  you  talk  of  drink  and  of  bottles  of  vodka  ! 
No,  no,  brother,  that  won't  do  at  all !  Now,  I  maintain 
that  if  we  give  them  at  once  what  is  absolutely  necessary, 
they  will  resume  work  and  not  dream  of  asking  for  any- 
thing more.  For  they  know  better  than  we  do  that  this 
disproportion  is  not  our  doing,  and  it  is  not  towards  us, 
personally,  that  their  hatred  is  shown." 

Stepan  Ivanovitch  shook  his  head,  apparently  too 
furious  to  reply.  It  was  this  stubborn  refusal  to  accept 
what  Mishuief  considered  a  simple  and  just  solution  of 


THE    MILLIONAIRE         103 

the  difficulty  that  caused  him  to  add,  with  some  heat, 
"  Very  well,  then  ;  don't  give  them  anything  !  Kick 
their  representatives  downstairs.  Let  them  smash  up 
your  factory,  and  raze  it  to  the  ground.  I  should  be 
only  too  glad  to  see  the  cursed  place  swept  off  the  face 
of  the  earth  !  " 

Stepan  Ivanovitch  smiled  an  evil  smile, 

"  It's  all  very  fine  to  talk  like  that,"  he  hissed  through 
his  clenched  teeth,  "  but  the  troops  won't  let  them  smash 
up  the  '  cursed  place,'  as  you  call  it.  At  any  rate  you've 
had  the  benefit  of  it  just  as  much  as  I  have  1     Bah  !  " 

"  The  troops  ?  "  asked  Mishuief  in  amazement.  In  that 
moment  he  hated  his  brother,  and  felt  convinced  that 
Stepan  hated  him.  "  Are  we  going  to  let  these  starving 
men  be  shot  down  because  they  demand  what  is  their 
right  ?     Do  you  understand  what  you  are  saying  ?  " 

"  I  understand  everything.  It's  no  wish  of  mine  that 
there  should  be  factories  and  workmen.  Some  day,  I 
hope,  such  things  won't  exist.  But,  at  present  this 
factory  happens  to  belong  to  us,  not  to  them,  and  if  they 
touch  a  single  stone  of  it  I'll  have  them  shot  down  like 
so  many  mad  dogs  !     Yes,  that  I  will !  " 

With  that  Stepan  Ivanovitch  rose,  ponderous,  massive 
as  a  rock.  The  pale  wintry  light  touched  his  broad 
forehead. 

"  But  to  that  I  won't  consent,"  exclaimed  Mishuief 
hoarsely.  "  If  you  give  orders  to  shoot,  I'll  side  with 
the  strikers.  Then  we'll  see  if  you  dare  to  do  such  a 
thing  !  " 

Stepan  Ivanovitch  turned  away  and  walked  to  the 
window. 

"  That's  your  affair,"  was  his  callous  rejoinder. 

With  beating  heart  and  trembling  limbs,  Mishuief 
stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 

"  Feodor  Ivanovitch,"  began  Schanz  in  a  mild,  in- 
gratiating tone  ;  and  Mishuief  caught  sight  of  his  little 
fox-hke  face.  "  I  think  that  you're  getting  too  excited 
about  all  this,  and  that  you  exaggerate  matters.  Con 
cessions  of  some  kind  will  have  to  be  made.  We're  all 
of  us  aware  of  that,  and  I  know  that  Stepan  Ivanovitch 


104        THE    MILLIONAIRE 

is  ready  to  admit  this,  too.  Of  course  he  is.  The  point 
is,  to  what  extent  can  such  concessions  be  granted.  But, 
from  what  I  could  gather  at  our  former  consultations, 
you  were  ready  to  accept  the  strikers'  terms  in  their 
entirety.  This  can  never  be  done,  Feodor  Ivanovitch. 
Such  a  thing  is  obviously  quite  impossible  !  " 

Producing  a  pile  of  carefully  kept  books,  the  manager 
at  great  length  sought  to  convince  Mishuief  that  it  was 
sheer  folly  to  accede  to  the  men's  actual  demands,  and 
the  latter,  dazed  by  the  relentless  logic  of  figures,  felt 
at  last  unable  to  act,  unable  to  reply.  He  would  have 
to  give  in,  though  he  rebelled  against  doing  so  with  his 
whole  soul. 

Angry  murmurs  could  be  heard  without.  The  sound 
was  as  that  of  some  distant  waterfall,  while  at  times 
loud  cries  rose  up  from  below.  Schanz,  the  manager, 
still  continued  talking,  as  he  cited  facts  and  figures  in 
endless  succession. 

"  Understand  this  much,"  struck  in  Stepan  Ivanovitch, 
but  in  a  quieter  tone ;  "no  middle  course  is  possible. 
They'll  never  agree  to  ten  per  cent.  There  was  some 
talk  at  first  of  thirty  ;  however,  the  strike-committee 
gave  in  and  accepted  twenty.  But,  as  to  agreeing  to 
ten,  they'll  never  do  that !  " 

Mishuief  raised  his  sad,  weary  eyes,  as  his  brother 
continued  : 

"  One  must  either  grant  everything  or  nothing. 
Nothing,  so  that,  after  the  inevitable  catastrophe,  we 
may  have  it  in  our  power  to  dictate  our  own  terms." 

"  And  till  that  happens  ?  "  asked  Mishuief,  turning 
pale. 

"  Till  that  happens,  well !  "  Stepan  looked  away,  and 
snapped  his  fingers  viciously. 

"  No  !  "  cried  Mishuief,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  huge 
height.  "  I  cannot,  I  will  not  consent  to  let  the  men  be 
shot  down  simply  because  they  are  starving  and  their 
interests  are  not  our  interests." 

"  Very  well,  then,  go  to  them  yourself,  and  put  your 
own  proposals  before  them  !  "  said  Stepan  Ivanovitch, 
as  he  flung  out  his  arms. 


THE    MILLIONAIRE         105 

Mishuicf  stood  there  silent,  with  downcast  eyes.  lie 
longed  to  have  Nicolaief  beside  him  at  that  moment. 
He  felt  sure  that  they  two  would  be  able  to  break  through 
this  magic  circle. 

"That  is  what  I  mean  to  do.  Rather  go  to  them 
than "     His  voice  here  failed  him. 

"  Hm  !  As  you  please,"  replied  Stepan  Ivanovitch. 
"  Perhaps  you'll  be  successful.  But  I  warn  you  that 
you  are  running  a  great  risk." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  You  will  draw  all  their  hatred  upon  yourself.  These 
very  workmen,  about  whom  you  are  so  concerned,  will 
in  a  moment  forget  everything  that  you  have  tried  to 
do  for  them  ;  and,  if  you  show  that  3^ou  are  against  them, 
they'll  hate  you  more  than  anybody  else,  just  because 
you  took  their  part  at  first  and  therefore  they  believed 
in  you." 

Mishuicf  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

"  Listen,  Fedia,"  said  Stepan  Ivanovitch  kindly,  "  do 
you  really  think  that  all  this  doesn't  affect  me  tremen- 
dously ?  But  you  are  running  an  awful  risk.  Don't 
do  it,  I  beg  of  you  !  " 

For  a  good  while  Mishuicf  stood  perfectly  still.  Then 
he  turned  sharply  round  and  walked  out.  He  felt  that 
if  he  did  not  go  that  .  .  .  Hark  !  he  fancied  that  he 
heard  the  sound  of  musketry  and  of  shrieking,  that  he 
SEAv  blood.  With  head  thrown  backward  and  a  vague 
sense  of  grief  that  chilled  his  heart,  as  if  he  alone  had 
chosen  to  bear  a  heavy  cross,  he  took  his  stand  on  the 
stone  steps  outside. 

Tumult  and  white  light  seemed  to  overwhelm  him. 
Thousands  of  expectant  faces  were  turned  towards  him  ; 
on  some  of  them  there  was  a  look  of  gladness.  He  began 
to  speak. 

What  then  occurred  came  swiftly,  furiously,  as  some 
horrible  typhoon.  He  could  hardly  hear  the  first  words 
he  uttered,  but  in  an  instant  he  saw  how  the  faces  round 
him  changed.  In  a  moment  the  expression  of  trust^and 
gladness  had  vanished.  Amid  that  huge  crowd  Mishuicf 
felt  all  at  once  that  he  was  quite  alone  ;   utterly  isolated, 


106        THE    MILLIONAIRE 

a  stranger  to  them  all.  He  strove  to  recover  himself, 
but  already  what  he  spoke  had  no  force,  no  point.  All 
in  a  moment  the  bond  of  sympathy,  firm  as  it  had  seemed, 
was  broken ;  indeed,  it  might  never  have  existed.  He 
stood  there,  face  to  face  with  foes. 

Afterwards  he  remembered  that  a  little  dark  man  with 
piercing  eyes,  a  turner  by  trade,  began  to  answer  him. 

"  No  more  lies  !  "  the  man  shouted.  "  You've  shown 
your  real  face  to  us  now.  You're  just  another  that 
thinks  first  of  his  millions  and  millions  of  roubles  before 
he  gives  a  thought  to  the  millions  of  human  beings 
who  have  only  asked  you  for  their  rights.  That's  all 
we  want  now.  Let  them  shoot  us  down,  do  !  Shoot 
away  !     Hangman,  do  your  work  !  " 

Pale  as  death,  Mishuief  tried  to  speak,  but  words  failed 
him.  Sudden  terror  seized  him,  as  when  in  a  dream  one 
falls  into  some  horrible  abyss. 

Some  fellow  seized  his  arm,  and  instinctively  he  shook 
him  off,  while  endeavouring  to  speak  louder.  But  on 
the  crowd  this  movement  of  his  had  the  effect  of  a  threat. 
Others  now  assaulted  him,  a  snowball  hit  his  eye,  and 
amid  frantic  yells  he  disappeared  head  foremost  in  the 
crowd.  With  a  wrench  he  freed  his  right  hand  and  hit 
out  blindly,  striking  some  one's  head  with  terrific  force. 
For  an  instant  there  was  space  round  about  him,  and 
then  he  saw  red-capped  Cossacks  riding  into  the  yard 
and  heard  whips  whizzing  through  the  air.  Horror- 
struck,  he  dashed  towards  them,  but  he  was  attacked 
from  behind  and  fell,  dragging  with  him  the  swart  little 
turner,  whose  head  was  broken,  and  spattered  with  blood. 


XV 

In  crimson  splendour  came  the  shining  dawn,  and  at 
her  coming  the  dark  blue  heavens,  roused  from  their 
dream,  grew  brighter  above  the  spacious  sea.  Drowsily 
the  green  wavelets  broke  against  the  steamer's  side,  and 
the  ocean  and  the  distant  hills  were  as  yet  shrouded  in 
opaline  mist.  High  up,  some  topmost  peak,  touched 
already  by  sunlight,  shone  like  a  golden  flame, 

Mishuief  slowly  crawled  up  on  to  the  deck,  and  with 
jaded  eyes,  aching  still  after  a  sleepless  night,  surveyed 
the  scene.  On  board  the  steamer  passengers  were  not 
yet  awake.  Two  or  three  sailors  were  swabbing  the 
slippery  deck,  and  confused  sounds  could  be  heard  pro- 
ceeding from  the  cabins.  The  steamer's  noise  was  dull 
and  continuous  as  the  waves  lapped  monotonously  against 
her  sides.  Mishuief  shivered  repeatedly  in  the  cold  air. 
His  sleepy  face  looked  as  if  it  had  been  crumpled  up,  and 
his  hair  was  dishevelled. 

Crossing  to  larboard  he  stood  for  a  long  while  gazing 
at  the  green  frothing  water  or  at  the  distant  sunlit  hills. 
Then,  going  to  the  upper  deck,  he  sat  down  at  one  of  the 
little  marble  tables  that,  screwed  down  tightly  in  their 
places,  seemed  cold  and  comfortless  as  ice.  Leaning  on 
this  with  both  his  massive  arms,  he  gazed  about  him. 
There  were  now  signs  of  life  on  board.  A  steward  in  a 
white  jacket  with  huge  silver  buttons  ran  past ;  the 
first  officer,  chilled  by  his  long  night  watch,  descended 
from  his  post ;  two  girls,  their  eyes  still  heavy  with  sleep, 
came  out  of  the  first  class,  apparently  much  surprised 
to  find  the  weather  so  bright  and  sunny.  Then  a  lanky 
Englishman  in  a  panama  hat,  looking  as  if  he  had  stepped 
from  some  book  of  caricatures,  propped  his  legs  against 
the  seat  opposite  to  his,  and  lit  a  huge  cigar.  A  little 
boy  in  a  sailor-suit  came  running  on  deck,  and  the  sun- 
light fell  on  his  plump,  little  bare  legs.  Other  passengers, 
smiling  and  sleepy-eyed,  now  appeared,  and  soon  life  on 
board  the  steamer  pursued  its  busy,  cheerful  course.     Two 

107 


108         THE    MILLIONAIRE 

bright-eyed  French  women,  like  twittering,  merry  birds 
that  greet  the  morning,  sat  down  at  the  table  next  to 
Mishuief's.  They  looked  about  them  and,  spying  their 
gloomy  neighbour,  glanced  at  each  other  and  laughed, 

Mishuief  felt  inclined  to  get  up  and  go.  Human  faces, 
human  voices  w^ere  hateful  to  him  ;  false  tongues,  false 
eyes,  he  shunned  them  all.  Yet  he  was  trembling  in 
every  limb  ;  his  back  ached,  and  his  eyelids  throbbed 
with  pain.  To  move  would  have  been  torture.  He 
rapped  smartly  on  the  table  to  attract  the  hurrying 
waiter's  attention,  and  was  just  about  to  call  out  to  him 
when  he  saw  the  Frenchwomen  looking  at  him  curiously, 
as  they  kncAv  that  he  was  a  famous  Russian  millionaire. 
He  remained  dumb.  Had  he  in  that  moment  heard  his 
OAvn  voice  it  would  have  sufficed,  so  he  thought,  to  cause 
one  of  those  mad  fits  of  rage  to  which  latterly  he  had 
often  been  subject.  In  the  whole  world  there  was  nothing 
more  odious,  foolish,  and  futile  than  his  own  voice. 

The  servant  stood  waiting,  silent  and  surprised.  Then 
Mishuief,  to  his  own  astonishment,  took  out  a  pencil  and 
wrote  on  the  marble  top  of  the  table,  "  Bring  me  some 
coffee." 

With  head  awry,  like  a  hen  about  to  peck  at  grain, 
the  waiter  read  what  was  \mtten,  and  then  hurried  away. 

The  idea  amused  Mishuief.  Why  had  he  not  thought 
of  it  before  ?  Quite  simple,  too.  One  could  thus  always 
remain  dumb,  and  get  from  other  persons  that  which 
one  wanted  without  hearing  their  false  voices  or  one's 
own.  The  whimsical  nature  of  such  a  proceeding  pleased 
him,  as  in  this  way  he  thought  he  could  mock  his  fellow- 
men  and  hide  himself  from  them. 

Yet,  when  the  coffee  was  brought,  he  gazed  seawards, 
lost  in  his  thoughts.  His  aching  head  was  propped 
against  his  hands,  through  which  his  ruffled  locks  of  hair 
emerged,  and  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  dull,  leaden  look. 
For  many  days  he  had  brooded  thus,  and  when  in  a  brief, 
unrefreshing  sleep  the  thoughts  that  harassed  him  were 
lost,  he  had  an  awful  sense  of  sinking  downwards,  ever 
downwards,  helplessly  in  the  huge  fathomless  void. 
Latterly  he  had  travelled  much,  but  the  impressions  of 


THE    MILLIONAIRE         109 

such  journeys  were  dim  and  blurred,  like  vague  memories 
of  the  long-forgotten  past.  Yet  an  ever-recurring  group 
of  faces  flashed  across  his  disordered  brain.  They  were 
alwaj'^s  present ;  he  saw  them  as  clearly  as  one  sees  figures 
in  the  unnatural  glare  of  a  feverish  dream.  Now  they 
rose  up  again  before  his  eyes  that  hardly  noticed  the  blue- 
green  panorama  which  met  his  view. 

First  he  beheld  Nicolaief's  perplexed  countenance, 
which  recalled  their  last  interview.  There  he  stood,  in 
the  middle  of  his  study,  opposite  the  tattered  figure  of 
the  roaring,  raving  Mishuicf,  looking  aside  and  nervously 
fingering  the  tassels  of  his  girdle.  Choking  with  mad 
rage,  Mishuief  strove  to  understand  how  it  was  that  this 
man,  the  best  of  all  he  had  ever  known  or  loved,  could 
not  see  the  monstrous  injustice  of  which  he  was  a  victim. 
Brutes  in  human  shape,  to  whom  he  had  done  nothing 
but  good,  and  to  whom  he  had  wished  to  sacrifice  his 
whole  life,  had  ill-used  him,  beaten  him,  had  wanted  to 
kill  him.  The  thing  was  amazing,  infuriating,  yet  all 
that  he  heard  was  Nicolaief's  disloyal,  embarrassed  voice 
persuading  him  that  they  were  not  to  blame. 

"  They're  just  brutes  !  Low,  senseless,  greedy  brutes  !  " 
shouted  Mishuief.  "  What  had  I  done  to  them  ?  Why 
did  they  treat  me  thus  ?  " 

"  Yet,  look  what  they  had  to  suffer — all  for  one  man," 
was  Nicolaief's  quiet  answer. 

"  Suffer,  indeed  !  They  didn't  suffer  half  enough ! 
I'm  glad  if  they  did  suffer  ;  yes,  I'm  delighted,  delighted  !" 

Mishuief  shouted  louder  and  louder,  yet,  as  his  fury 
increased,  Nicolaief's  expression  grew  colder  and  more 
hostile.  When  Mishuief  bitterly  reproached  him  with 
callousness  and  want  of  sympathy,  he  replied  calmly, 
but  with  cruel  malignity  in  his  voice  : 

"  Possibly  in  this  case  they  did  wrong.  It  was  an 
outburst  of  blind  fury  on  the  part  of  desperate,  toil-worn 
men.  But,  to  be  quite  candid,  how  do  you  stand  with 
regard  to  them  ?  You're  their  enemy,  like  all  the  rest, 
like  your  brother " 

"  I  am  their  enemy  ?  "  cried  Mishuief,  aghast. 

"  Yes,  that  you  are.     You  lived,  like  all  the  rest,  by 


110        THE    MILLIONAIRE 

the  sweat  of  their  brows  ;  they  bled  for  you  ;  and  if 
you  refrained  from  crushing  them  underfoot,  even  if 
you  went  so  far  as  to  help  them,  that  is  really  not  so 
meritorious  after  all." 

Mishuief's  bruised  face,  with  swollen  lips  and  blackened 
eyes,  grew  hideous,  even  pitiable,  to  behold. 

"  So,  you  think  that  they  would  have  done  right  if 
they  had  killed  me  ?  "  he  asked  breathlessly. 

Nieolaief  turned  pale  as  again  he  fidgeted  with  the 
tassels  of  his  girdle. 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  began  Mishuief,  "  then  you 
are — ■ — "     But  he  stopped  short. 

Then,  to  his  supreme  disgust,  he  noticed  a  changed 
expression  on  Nicolaief's  face,  the  result,  as  it  seemed, 
of  some  afterthought.  The  poet  suddenly  attempted 
to  gloss  over  his  previous  remarks  and  to  be  anxious  to 
conciliate  Mishuief  who,  in  his  overwTought  state,  was 
quick  to  detect  the  falseness  of  such  words  and  the  reason 
for  their  utterance.  Nieolaief  appeared  afraid  to  quarrel, 
lest  Mishuief  should  refuse  to  find  money  for  the  proposed 
journalistic  venture.  Both  were  silent.  Mishuief  felt 
unutterable  shame,  and  Nicolaief's  honest  face  grew  red 
with  confusion.  For  a  moment  their  eyes  met,  and  in 
that  moment  the  bond  of  their  lifelong,  loyal  friendship 
melted  and  left  no  trace.  Half  an  hour  later  they  sepa- 
rated, not  as  two  intimate  friends,  but  as  foes  who  hated 
and  despised  each  other. 

Afterwards  Mishuief  spent  the  long  tedious  hours  of 
that  night  in  travelling.  He  had  determined  to  go  to 
the  man  whom  he  had  robbed  of  all  his  happiness.  Why 
he  had  sought  out  this  man  he  could  not  tell,  and  not 
till  he  saw  the  other's  questioning  look  did  he  dimly 
perceive  what  he  had  done.  It  may  be  that  he  desired 
to  meet  a  man,  even  an  enemy,  who  would  look  him 
fairly  and  squarely  in  the  face. 

Maria  Sergeievna's  husband  stood  before  him,  haggard 
and  grey-haired,  gazing  fixedly  at  him  with  burning, 
unquenchable  hatred  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Is  what  you  did 
to  me  not  enough  ?     Have  you  come  to  mock  me  ?     Do 


THE    MILLIONAIRE         111 

you  suppose  that  you  have  a  right  to  do  whatever  you 
Hke  ?  " 

Mishuief,  though  he  did  not  recollect  the  exact  words, 
could  yet  clearly  see  how  the  other's  face  first  expressed 
astonishment ;  and  then,  having  understood,  bitter,  almost 
triumphant  scorn. 

"  Aha  !  "  he  said  softly,  "  so,  apparently,  there  is  yet 
something  which  money  cannot  buy.     That's  good." 

Then  he  laughed  louder  and  louder,  and  at  last  drove 
him  from  the  door  as  one  drives  a  dog.  Mishuief  went. 
He  had  long  since  lost  the  living  thread  that  had  drawn 
him  to  this  man,  and  he  could  not  conceive  why  he  had 
ever  gone  to  him. 

That  night  in  the  train  he  could  not  sleep,  tormented 
by  hideous  visions.  Before  his  eyes  there  rose  up  the 
image  of  a  famous  poet  whose  very  name  since  childhood 
he  had  reverenced  and  loved.  Would  he  receive  him  ? 
The  idea  cheered  him  for  a  time  until  the  reply  to  his 
telegram  arrived.  Yet  when  he  knew  that  the  venerable 
man  was  willing  to  see  him,  the  scheme  appeared  futile. 

He  was  going  to  be  received,  so  he  thought,  merely 
because  he  was  Mishuief,  the  millionaire.  For  Mishuief, 
the  man,  this  philanthropist  did  not,  could  not  care. 
The  whole  idea  collapsed ;  Mishuief  saw  that  it  was  absurd. 
There  was  no  need  to  go  to  any  one  for  counsel  or  advice. 
No  one  could  tell  him  what  he  did  not  know  himself. 
Then,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  thought  of  renounc- 
ing his  wealth  and  of  becoming  poor,  like  most  other 
men.  Yet  that  again  seemed  impossible.  There  was 
no  need  to  go  here,  or  there,  for  comfort.  He  would 
always  be,  and  continue  to  be,  just  what  he  was.  Nothing 
could  cure  the  malady  that  once  and  for  all  had  maimed 
his  soul.  This  new  thought  that  for  him  there  was  no 
further  place  in  the  world  became  clearer  and  more  firmly 
rooted  in  his  brain.  Sighing  deeply,  he  shut  his  eyes. 
At  that  moment  he  overheard  a  youthful  voice  say  in 
Russian  : 

"  It's  wonderful,  when  you  travel  by  the  Southern 
express,  how  you  get  the  impression  that  spring  is  return^ 
ing  not  day  by  day  but  hour  by  hour.     You  simply  rush 


112         THE    MILLIONAIRE 

to  meet  it.  I  cannot  express  mj'^self  rightly,  but  to 
me  there  is  nothing  more  enchanting.  Yesterday  every- 
thing was  grey  and  cold ;  to-day  it  has  thawed  in 
places,  and  between  the  birches  one  sees  patches  of 
green.  To-morrow  we  shall  see  the  blue  sky.  How 
delightful  !  " 

Mishuief  mechanically  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
the  speaker.  He  was  a  very  young  man,  probably  an 
invalid,  and  he  was  talking  to  a  girl  with  bright, 
merry  eyes.  They  were  standing  on  deck,  and  the  breeze 
lightly  touched  her  soft  hair.  From  their  beaming  faces 
Mishuief  knew  that  they,  at  all  events,  were  really  happy. 
Then  once  more  he  gazed  at  the  shore,  and  again  closed 
his  eyes. 

Close  by,  two  French  women  were  talking  about  a 
bull-fight. 

"  Before  the  toreador  kills  him  all  the  matadors  drive 
him  with  their  red  cloaks  in  one  direction  ;  you  see,  in 
one  direction,  until  he's  utterly  dazed  .  .  .  and  then 
the  toreador  stabs  him.     It's  horrid,  I  assure  you." 

In  a  moment  Mishuief  seemed  to  see  the  huge  head 
of  a  bull  with  staring,  bloodshot  eyes. 

He  trembled  all  over,  and  got  up  from  his  seat.  There 
were  passengers  everywhere  on  deck.  Laughing  and 
chattering,  they  turned  to  watch  him  as  he  quietly  passed 
them  and  went  aft. 

There  he  stood,  gazing  at  the  track  of  foam  churned 
by  the  steamer  as  she  cut  her  way  through  the  waves. 
It  was  as  if  he  were  searching  for  something  in  this 
mysterious  frothy  stripe.  Then,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
he  had  found  it.  He  looked  round,  at  the  sky,  the  hills, 
the  merry  folk  on  board  who  sat  at  some  short  distance 
from  him.  Then,  suddenly,  he  jumped  overboard.  It 
was  done  clumsily,  and  of  this  he  had  a  lightning-swift 
impression,  as  he  felt  ashamed  that  his  fellow-passengers 
should  see  it. 

There  was  a  hideous  buzzing  in  his  ears  ;  nose  and 
mouth  were  choked  by  water  that  burned  and  stung. 
His  brain  seemed  bursting  as  he  sank  down  into  the 
green  chasm  that  engulfed  him.     Then,  as  he  rose  to 


THE    MILLIONAIRE         113 

the  surface  of  the  water,  he  saw  through  the  dripping 
spray  the  steamer  Uke  a  white  spot  in  the  distance, 

"  Help  !  " 

But  at  once  he  began  to  sink  in  the  dull  green  abyss, 
as  his  chest  seemed  rent  in  pieces.  A  shoal  of  little  fishes 
darted  aside,  like  splinters,  in  all  directions,  yet  instantly 
returned  to  stare  with  round  curious  eyes  at  his  outspread 
overcoat,  straddling  legs,  yellow  tan  boots,  and  blue, 
lifeless  head  that  slowly  sank,  deeper  and  deeper,  into 
the  cold  green  gloom  beneath. 


IVAN   LANDE 


IVAN  LANDE 


As  winter  approached,  the  little  town  became  tranquil. 
All  its  youth  and  activity  had  forsaken  it  for  populous 
cities.  Only  the  aged  in  body  and  spirit  remained  at 
home.  Their  life  was  the  traditional  one,  regular  and 
monotonous.  They  played  cards,  went  to  church,  read 
books,  and  thought  that  in  this  way  life  should  be  spent. 
Snow,  like  a  pure  cold  shroud,  covered  the  streets,  and 
in  the  houses  feeble,  sleepy  folk  pottered  about,  for  whom 
everything  by  now  had  reached  its  end.  Yet  in  spring- 
time, when  fragrance  rose  from  the  black,  moist  earth, 
and  on  all  sides  there  were  magic  touches  of  tender  green, 
as  the  glad  sunlight  warmed  each  grassy  slope  ;  when 
at  eventide  all  things  lay  hushed  and  expectant,  then 
each  day  brought  some  one  back  by  rail  to  the  town,  and 
in  the  streets  bright,  pleasant  faces  could  be  seen,  young, 
joyous  as  the  spring  itself.  Just  as  birds  go  back  to 
their  old  nests,  and  as  in  the  old  spots  grass  again  shoots 
up,  so  all  the  young,  life-loving  folk  were  wont  to  return 
to  their  little  peaceful,  yet  somewhat  dreary  town. 

Thus  in  the  May  of  this  year,  Ivan  Lande,  a  student  of 
mathematics,  had  arrived,  his  father,  chairman  of  the 
rural  district  council,  being  recently  deceased.  Through- 
out the  day  he  had  remained  with  his  mother,  who 
tearfully  recounted  the  details  of  his  father's  death, 
and  not  till  the  twilight  hour  did  he  take  up  his  cap  and 
walk  down  to  the  boulevard. 

The  avenue  lay  at  the  border  of  a  large  river  swollen 
now  by  spring  floods.  At  one  place  there  was  a  steep 
cliff,  where  two  old  green  benches  stood,  the  wood  of 
them  mouldy  now  through  damp. 

Beyond  the  river  it  was  growing  dark,  as  the  horizon 
gradually  faded  from  sight,  and  faint  stars  gleamed  in 
the  sombre  sky.     It  was  that  moment  of  solemn  peace 

117 


118  IVANLANDE 

when  something  invisible  appears  to  float,  cahii  and 
majestic,  above  the  land.  Far  down  the  river  a  ship's 
steam-whistle  uttered  a  weird,  melancholy  noise,  as  if 
to  give  notice  of  danger,  or  to  recall  some  sad  and  in- 
evitable occm'rence.  On  the  broad  glossy  surface  of 
the  water,  strangely  bright  amid  the  general  gloom,  a 
black  moving  spot  could  be  seen  which  left  in  its  wake  a 
broad,  even  streak. 

At  this  hour  the  boulevard  was  absolutely  deserted. 
Only  from  the  club-windows  fell  shafts  of  yellow  light  in 
which  noiseless  shadows  moved,  and  close  to  the  cliff 
dark  figures  could  be  dimly  discerned,  and  the  glimmer 
of  lighted  cigarettes,  as  in  the  distance  voices  and  laughter 
resounded. 

Lande  smiled,  and  walked  on  slowly  in  that  direction. 
Light,  yet  somewhat  feeble  of  step,  his  approach  could 
hardly  be  perceived. 

"  I  say,  shall  we  sing  a  song,  or  shout  till  they  hear  us 
on  the  other  side  of  the  water  ?  "  cried  a  pleasant  feminine 
voice,  that  in  the  dense,  warm  air  was  delightful  to 
hear. 

"  Well,  you  begin,"  was  a  man's  cheery  rejoinder,  as 
some  one  laughed. 

Lande,  coming  nearer,  said  : 

"  Good  evening  !  "  quietly,  but  so  distinctly  that  he 
was  at  once  heard. 

"  Hullo,  Lande  1  "  exclaimed  Shishmariof,  a  young 
student  with  boisterous  energy,  as  he  held  out  his  big  hand. 
Lande,  smiling,  gave  it  a  hearty  grip,  and  his  greeting 
to  the  others  was  equally  cordial.  They  all  were  glad  to 
shake  his  slender  hand,  and  in  this  universal  pleasure 
there  was  so  much  that  was  charming  because  so  perfectly 
sincere,  that  Molotchaief,  the  artist,  a  big,  strong  fellow 
who  had  never  seen  Lande  before,  felt  its  influence. 
When  Lande,  approaching  him,  said,  "  Let  me  introduce 
myself,  my  name's  Lande,"  the  artist  replied  : 

"  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,"  as  he  smilingly  looked 
into  Lande's  calm  eyes.  "  I  have  heard  about  you,"  he 
added,  in  a  voice  resonant  as  some  brazen  bell. 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  Lande,  smiling  and  turning  away. 


IVAN    LAND  K  110 

Yet  this  did  not  betoken  indifference,  but  rather  a  certain 
latent  intimacy  as  if  he  had  known  this  long  ago. 

"  What  were  you  all  talking  about  ?  "  he  said  to  the 
group. 

"  Oh  I  Maria  Nieolaicvna  wants  to  jump  over  the 
moon  1  "  lauglicd  the  little  student. 

"  That's  ehurniing  of  licr  !  "  said  Lande,  as  he  smiled, 
and  nodded  kindly  to  Maria. 

A  sickly  student,  Semenof,  coughed  huskily. 

"  Still  suffering  ?  "  asked  Lande  kindly,  as  he  put  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  just  the  same  as  ever,"  was  the  gloomy  reply. 
"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  come  1  "  said  Lande,  but  his  voice 
shook. 

"No,  my  boy,  I'm  done  for!"  replied  Semenof,  as 
his  features,  wrinkh.d  by  disease,  were  distorted  l)y  an 
unnatural  smile,  and  liis  voice  (expressed  reseutuient 
and  acute  despair.  "  There'll  be  some  fhic  weeds  grow 
out  of  mc  soon  I  " 

All  were  silent.  A  cold,  strange,  and  yet  liorrI])ly 
intimate  sensation  seemed  to  freeze  their  vitals.  'J'lu  ii, 
like  a  slack  violin-string,  Lande's  gentle  voice  was  heard, 
saying  : 

"  No,  don't  say  that,  my  little  pigeon  !  One  mustn't 
talk  like  that  al)out  what  no  one  really  knows.  Sorin- 
day  we  shall  all  have  to  die,  not  merely  I,  or  y(ju,  but  all 
of  us,  and  then  we  shall  all  know  at  once  if  the  end  is 
just  weeds,  as  you  say,  or  a  new  life.  All  !  Don't  you 
feel  how  much  that  word  implifs  ?  It  is  ii)i[)ossible  that 
sufh  a  Wf-alth  of  thought  and  suffering  and  affection 
should  vanish  without  a  trace  and  siin[>ly  reappear  as 
'  weeds.'  All  of  us  feel  this,  too,  and  believe  it.  So 
do  you.  Only,  you  won't  believe  anytliing,  because, 
like  a  child,  you're  afraid  of  what  is  new  to  you,  what  you 
don't  understand.  We  don't  know  what  death  is,  and 
that  is  why  we  are  afraid  of  it." 

The  simple  sincerity  with  which  these  words  were 
spoken  soothed  the  other's  tortured  brain  ;  like  some 
soft  odour,  some  genial  ray,  caressing  to  tiie  spirit,  and 
that  points  to  brighter  horizons,  to  a  diiitant,  roseate  dawn. 


120  IVANLANDE 

In  Semenof  s  trembling  heart  child-like,  trustful  hope 
was  aroused,  as  he  said  laughingly,  "Blessed  are  they  who 
believe." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  sense  of  relief.  The  in- 
visible phantom  softly  receded,  and  removed  from  their 
talk  its  dreadful,  icy  hand. 

Like  some  black  shadow  a  tall  man  now  came  striding 
along  the  boulevard,  kicking  up  the  sand  as  he  went. 

"  That  is  Firsof,"  said  Lande,  as  he  hailed  him  by 
name. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Molotchaief  softly. 

"  Oh  I  some  official  at  the  Finance  Department,"  said 
Sliishmariof,  with  an  impatient  gesture.  He  seemed 
to  be  annoyed  with  Lande. 

The  black  shadow  stopped. 

"  It's  you,  isn't  it,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch  ?  "  asked  a 
dull,  grating  voice. 

"  It  is  I,"  repHed  Lande. 

There  was  a  sound  of  shuffling  feet,  and  the  dim  shadow 
gradually  changed  into  a  long,  lean  man,  who  approached. 

"  Welcome,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch,  welcome  !  " 

With  a  show  of  excessive  cordiality  the  new-comer 
stumbled  over  the  other's  feet  to  get  to  Ivan  Lande. 
His  somewhat  boisterous  manner  seemed  to  be  assumed. 

"  I  say,  look  out  where  you're  coming  to  !  "  exclaimed 
Semenof  irritably. 

"  Good  evening,  Firsof,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  Lande 
as  he  grasped  the  other's  hand. 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  Firsof,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  how 
should  I  be  ?  At  work,  hard  at  work.  Life's  nothing 
but  that.  Though,  of  course,  I  have  my  spiritual  hfe 
as  well.     Church  is  what  renovates  me." 

His  voice  had  a  false  ring  in  it,  as  if  he  wished  to  praise 
himself  and  show  off  before  Lande. 

"  Your  life's  not  exactly  rich,  is  it  ?  "  said  Sliishmariof 
with  obvious  irony. 

Firsof  turned  slowly  round. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  ?  Greater  riches  than  com- 
munion with  God  I  do  not  know.  Very  likely  you  are 
not  of  that  opinion." 


IVANLANDE  121 

Almost  threatening  was  the  tone  in  which  this  was 
said,  yet  Shishmariof  only  glanced  contemptuously  at 
him,  and  did  not  answer. 

"  Yes,"  drawled  Firsof,  after  a  pause,  "  the  other  day 
I  had  to  serve  on  a  jury  here,  rather  an  interesting  case, 
it  was,  of  a  workman  accused  of  theft.  At  one  time  he 
was  foreman  at  the  weaving  mills,  here.  Probably  you 
know  him.     His  name's  Tkatchof." 

"  Tkatchof  ?  "  cried  Lande  in  amazement.  "  It's 
impossible  1  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  continued  Firsof  gleefully,  "it  was  theft 
right  enough.  A  trifling  matter  in  itself;  but  the  way 
that  he  behaved  1  Just  imagine  !  He  wouldn't  have 
anyone  to  defend  him,  but  conducted  his  case  himself. 
'Of  course,  I  know  that  I've  stolen,'  says  he,  'but  if  any- 
one on  the  jury  is  without  sin  in  this  respect  then  let 
him  judge  me.'  Blasphemous,  I  call  it  I  Till  then  I 
never  realized  how  mighty  are  those  words  1  " 

"  I  can't  see  that  the  words  matter  in  the  least  !  "  was 
Scmenof's  interjection. 

"  Of  course,  it's  the  words,  and  the  making  use  of 
them  like  that  !  "  said  Firsof  angrily. 

In  clumsy  fashion  he  then  tried  to  explain  that  inspired 
words,  words  of  our  Lord,  should  never  have  been  used 
by  a  man  of  that  sort  with  reference  to  his  own  evil 
deeds.  Yet  all  that  he  said  was  so  dry  and  lifeless  that 
nobody  listened. 

Stretching  out  her  arm  which,  in  its  loose  white  sleeve, 
looked  the  wing  of  some  large  bird,  Maria  Nicolaievna 
exclaimed  in  glee  : 

"  The  moon  1   The  moon  is  rising  !  " 

Firsof  stopped  short,  evidently  annoyed. 

"  Ah  !    yes.     No  doubt  the  moon's  of  more  import- 


ance." 


"  Everything  is  of  importance,"  said  Lande  smiling. 

Above  the  dark  horizon  the  moon's  red  disc  slowly 
floated  into  sight.  At  once  on  the  gloomy  surface  of  the 
river  sparks  appeared,  and  a  frail  tremulous  golden  bridge 
was  flung  across  it  from  shore  to  shore,  like  some  mute 
mysterious  appeal  to  come  over  into  a  new,  azure  world. 


122  IVAN    LANDE 

"  How  lovely  !  "  cried  Maria  Nicolaievna  enthusias- 
tically, and  her  full,  rich  voice  echoed  down  the  darkening 
slopes.  Lande  turned  to  look  at  her  charming  face  as  she 
gazed  dreamily  into  the  gloom. 

"Ivan  Ferapontovitch,"  said  Firsof,  in  the  same 
rasping  tone,  as  he  rose,  "  we  shall  meet  again,  I  hope. 
I  must  go  now." 

"  No  doubt  we  shall,"  replied  Lande,  as  he  feebly 
shook  the  other's  hand. 

Firsof  took  leave  of  the  others,  and  went  shuffling 
onward. 

"  What  pleasure  can  you  find  in  talking  to  such  a 
fellow  ?  "  asked  Shishmariof,  when  he  had  gone.  "  A 
grumbler  and  a  skin-flint,  alv/ays  running  to  church,  and 
worrying  his  child  when  he's  at  home." 

"He.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh  !  don't  let  us  talk  about  him,  please,"  exclaimed 
Shishmariof  irritably. 

Lande  smiled  sadly  and  was  silent. 

The  moon  had  now  risen,  and  her  silver  shield  hung 
overhead. 

"  Now,  Molotchaief,"  said  Maria  Nicolaievna,  "  paint 
som.ething  like  that.  Then  I  shall  at  once  think  that 
you're  a  great  artist  !  " 

Molotchaief  gazed  at  the  moon  without  speaking, 
and  Shishmariof  watched  him. 

"He'll  paint  it  directly,"  was  his  mocking  remark; 
then,  turning  to  Lande,  he  said  eagerly  : 

"  Lande,  do  you  know  what  happened  at  Verschilof's 
mill  ?  He  Avanted  to  give  his  workmen  a  lot  of  putrid 
meat,  and  so  they  smashed  his  windows  and  thrashed  the 
manager.     Twenty-one  men  have  been  arrested." 

"  Now  then,  Lande,"  asked  Semenof,  to  rally  him, 
"  were  they  in  the  right  ?  " 

"Yes,"  was  Lande's  firm  reply.  Then,  as  Semenof 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  he  added ; 

"  Their  families  are  in  terrible  straits.  It's  a  shocking 
story.     We  did  what  little  we  could  for  them,  but " 

No  one  spoke.  Lande's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground, 
and  his  thin  fingers  twitched  slightly. 


IVANLANDE  123 

Scmenof  coughed,  and  the  sound  echoed  across  the 
cliff.  Gliding  upwards,  the  moon,  as  she  rose  higher 
and  higher,  gradually  revealed  in  ghostly  outline  the 
opposite  river-bank,  and  over  the  fields  and  the  river 
itself  white  mists  floated.  The  air  grew  chill  and  damp. 
Semenof  buttoned  his  overcoat,  pulled  his  cap  right  over 
his  ears,  and  got  up. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  he  said,  "  it's  getting  cold.  Sonia, 
are  you  coming  too  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  a  slim  girl,  who  had  sat  the  whole  time 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"Very  well,"  said  Semenof  carelessly,  "it's  cold. 
You'll  come  and  see  me,  won't  you,  Lande  ?  " 

"  All  right." 

"  Good-bye." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Molotehaief  mechanically. 

"  The  artist  is  lost  in  his  thoughts  1     Good-bye  !  " 

And  Semenof  went  slowly  along  the  boulevard,  stooping 
as  he  walked. 

"  I  say,  Lionia,"  said  Lande  slowly,  after  evident 
reflection,  "  we  must  help  this  fellow." 

"  All  that  it  was  possible  to  do  has  been  done,"  replied 
Shishmariof.     "  There's  no  help  for  it." 

Lande  got  up. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  Come  and  see 
me  to-morrow.  I  must  go  now.  My  mother  expects 
me." 

It  soon  became  very  cold.  The  earth  and  the  sky,  the 
river's  surface  and  the  features  of  human  beings,  all  had 
a  frigid,  transparent  look  like  that  of  blue  ice.  Shish- 
mariof with  Lionia  went  in  one  direction,  and  Lande, 
Molotehaief  and  Maria  Nicolaievna  in  the  other. 


II 

"  If  you'll  be  my  model,  I'll  paint  a  picture,"  said 
Molotchaief,  as  he  bent  closer  to  Maria  Nicolaievna's 
moonlit  face. 

"  Why  not  two  ;  while  you're  about  it  ?  "  she  laugh- 
ingly replied,  as  her  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure. 

Lande  looked  up  at  her  and  said  : 

"  It  is  good — "  but  then  he  smiled,  and  did  not  finish 
his  sentence,  which  would  have  been,  "  It's  good  that 
you  are  both  so  young,  so  handsome,  and  so  much  in 
love  with  each  other." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  for  the  workmen  ?  "  asked 
Maria  Nicolaievna,  remembering  Lande's  words  and 
looking  suddenly  grave. 

"  Nothing  much  ;  something  just  as  a  temporary  help. 
I've  got  some  money." 

Molotchaief  looked  at  him,  and  was  impressed  by  the 
expression  of  steadfast  determination  in  that  haggard, 
moonlit  countenance  and  those  large,  glorious  eyes.  He 
felt  suspicious,  half  jealous  of  the  other,  as  with  curling 
lip  he  asked  : 

"  Are  you  going  to  give  it  to  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lande. 

"  All  of  it  ?  "  To  Molotchaief  it  sounded  like  a  bad 
joke.  "  I  really  don't  know,  my  lad,"  was  Lande's 
good-tempered  answer,  as  if  considering  the  matter. 
"  Perhaps  the  whole  of  it  if  necessary." 

And  you  .  .  .  have  got  lots  of  money,  I  suppose  ?  " 
asked  Molotchaief  ironically.  "  The  fellow's  a  poseur,'^ 
he  thought  to  himself,  annoyed,  really,  because  he  knew 
it  was  jealousy  that  gave  him  this  false  impression. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  Ustened  attentively  as  Lande 
continued  : 

"  I  have  .  .  .  not  very  much,  you  know  .  .  .  four 
thousand." 

And  again  Molotchaief  could  not  help  thinking,  "  that 
hesitation's  all  done  for  effect." 

124 


IVAN    LAND  E  125 

Then  he  chanced  to  look  at  Maria  Nicolaievna,  which 
made  him  forget  Lande. 

"  Your  face  is  just  hke  one  in  some  picture  by  Stuck, 
when  you  laugh  or  when  you  look  serious,"  he  said  with 
enthusiasm. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  laughed,  and  for  an  instant  her 
white  teeth  gleamed  in  the  moonlight.  Lande  as  he 
looked  at  her  perceived  the  truth  of  what  Molotchaief 
had  said. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  give  them  all  that  money  at 
once  ?  "  she  asked,  trying  to  hide  her  face  from 
Molotchaief. 

"  Yes,  all  at  once  !  "  said  Lande  smiling. 

There  was  such  calm  earnestness  in  his  voice  that  she 
for  a  moment  became  thoughtful.  His  words  had 
touched  some  tender  chord  within  her  inmost  soul. 

"  He's  dehghtful !  "  she  thought.  "  And  so  abso- 
lutely original !    A  saintly  man  !  " 

She  remembered  that  Semenof  had  once  called  him 
this. 

"  No,  he's  not  saintly,  in  the  sense  of  being  crazed  on 
the  subject  of  rehgion." 

She  did  not  want  him  to  be  that. 

When  it  came  to  saying  good-bye,  Lande  seemed 
irresolute,  as  if  he  would  have  preferred  to  remain  with 
the  young  couple. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Molotchaief  coolly,  as  he  hastily 
held  out  his  hand.  Lande  paused  a  moment  and  then, 
smiling,  went  his  way,  full  of  a  great  tenderness^  of  a 
boundless  sympathy  with  the  whole  world. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  walked  for  a  good  while  beside 
her  companion  without  speaking,  her  soul  filled  with 
solemn  peace. 

"This  Lande's  simply  crazy,"  said  Molotschaief. 
An  absolute  fool !  Not  even  that,  perhaps  !  "  he  added 
with  a  grimace.  "  He's  not  handsome,  but  interesting- 
looking." 

"  Oh  !  you  know  nothing  except  about  your  art ; 
that's  all !  "  said  Maria  Nicolaievna,  as  she  laughingly 
looked  up  at  the  moon. 


126  IVANLANDE 

"  No,  I  have  only  an  eye  for  what  is  beautiful,"  replied 
Molotchaief,  and  to  these  simple  words  he  gave  a  special 
meaning  which  she  did  not  miss. 

"  And,  besides  the  beautiful  ?  " 

"  The  devil  only  knows.  Nothing,  I  should  say  !  " 
Molotchaief  shrugged  his  shoulders, 

Maria  laughed,  and  her  bosom  as  it  heaved  beneath 
the  white  bodice  in  the  moonlight  looked  almost  nude. 
Molotchaief's  glance  was  fixed  upon  her  ravishing 
profile  and  her  dark,  shining  eyes  that  were  not  turned 
to  him  but  seemed  fraught  with  mystery  and  cryptic 
promise. 

Silence  reigned.  Behind  one  or  other  of  the  distant 
dreary  houses  a  little  dog  began  to  bark. 

"  I  want  to  live,"  said  Maria  Nicolaievna  softly  at 
first,  but  gradually  raising  her  voice.  "  I  want  to  do 
something,  I  want  to  love  !  " 

Then,  with  a  sudden  peal  of  silvery  laughter,  "  I  want 
to  jump  over  the  moon,  as  Shishmariof  said  !  No  ! 
No  !  It's  sleep,  that's  what  I  want  I     Good-bye  !  " 

"  Good-bye  !  "  said  Molotchaief,  as,  still  trembling, 
he  heaved  a  deep  sigh.     "  Good-bye  I  " 

Behind  the  fence  the  sound  of  light  footsteps  could 
be  heard,  the  turning  of  a  key  in  the  lock,  as  the  door 
clumsily  opened  and  a  sleepy  voice  mumbled  something. 
Then  was  all  still. 

Molotchaief  walked  on  through  the  silent  moon- 
silvered  streets,  free  from  disturbing  thoughts  ;  conscious 
only  of  his  great  happiness. 


Ill 

When  Lande  reached  home,  his  mother  was  seated  at 
the  table  waiting  to  get  supper  ready  for  him. 

Since  her  husband's  death  it  had  been  a  dreary,  desolate 
home  for  her ;  everything  seemed  to  have  come  to  an 
end,  so  she  thought.  Some  fatal  power  had  divided  her 
life  into  two  equal  halves.  Sad  and  tedious  though  the 
past  had  been,  it  was  not  without  joy  or  sunshine.  But 
now  all  was  cold  and  vacant.  It  was  only  the  thought 
of  her  son  that  shed  a  gleam  of  light  upon  her  dull  exist- 
ence, and  which  made  what  she  did  of  any  significance, 

"  Vania  ?  "  she  called  gently,  from  behind  the  lamp. 

"  It  is  I,  mother  dear,"  replied  Lande,  as,  throwing 
down  his  cap,  he  sat  down  beside  her  and  leaned  his 
head  on  her  shoulder.  She  stroked  his  soft  fair  hair 
and  thought  that  all  which  life  still  held  for  her  was 
centred  in  her  boy. 

"  Will  you  have  something  to  eat  ?  "  she  asked,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lande,  as  he  kissed  her  hand  with  its 
short,  wrinkled  fingers. 

"  My  own  dear  boy,"  said  his  mother,  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Mother,  what  did  father  really  leave  us  ?  I  mean, 
how  much  altogether  ?  " 

The  question  did  not  at  all  surprise  his  mother,  as 
Lande  might  want  to  be  certain  if  he  could  continue  his 
studies  or  not. 

"  Not  much,  Vania,"  she  said  sadly,  while  thinking 
of  something  else.  "  This  house,  here  ;  and  then,  thank 
God,  there's  my  little  annuity,  which  is  not  so  bad.  But, 
in  actual  cash,  we've  only  got  four  thousand." 

"  That's  about  what  I  thought.  The  house  and  the 
annuity  are  yours,  of  course,  mother,  but,  if  you  don't 
mind,  I'd  hke  to  have  the  money,  as  I  want  it."  When 
he  said  this  Lande  felt  a  sense  of  oppression  at  his  heart. 

"  Yes,  yes,  take  it,  do  !    It  was  really  left  to  you." 

127 


128  IVANLANDE 

She  looked  thoughtfully  at  him  and  stroked  his 
hair. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  with  it  ?  "  she  asked 
tenderly,  smihng  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  child. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  Lande  think  of  concealment. 
As  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  his  face  brightened  and  he 
cheerfully  replied : 

"  I  want  to  give  it  to  the  families  of  the  workmen  that 
Versliilof  has  turned  into  the  street." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  his  mother.  Then,  smiling,  she  said, 
"  You're  just  like  some  silly  child,  although  you've  got 
a  good  big  beard,  too." 

Lande  smiled  sadly,  and  did  not  answer. 

"  But  you  don't  seriously  mean  it  ?  It's  the  sort  of 
thing  you  might  do,"  continued  his  mother,  as  the  tone 
of  her  voice  suddenly  changed  to  one  of  anxiety  and 
caution.  Yet  ere  she  had  finished  speaking  she  saw  by 
his  clear,  wide-opened  eyes  that  he  was  really  in  earnest. 
For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  and  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. Then,  more  to  console  herself,  she  added,  "  How 
absurd  !    Why  what  would  become  of  you  ?  " 

"  That  will  be  all  right,  somehow,"  was  Lande's 
mournful  rejoinder.  He  felt  that  an  insurmountable 
icy  wall  had  risen  up  between  them. 

"  It's  absurd  !  "  repeated  his  mother  with  stubborn 
emphasis,  as  if  she  were  bound  to  ward  off  something 
hostile  and  evil.  It  was,  in  fact,  impossible  for  her  to 
approve  of  such  a  scheme  which  meant  the  annihilation 
of  all  that  had  been  accumulated  during  her  long,  in- 
dustrious life.  He  made  no  reply,  conscious  in  his  heart 
of  a  grievous  wound. 

That  night,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  he  thought  : 

"  What's  be  be  done  ?  Mother  can't  and  won't  under- 
stand. It  will  be  an  awful  shock  to  her,  but  I  can't  act, 
otherwise.  We  should  never  agree  about  this,  and,  loi'ing 
her  as  I  do,  I  should  have  to  give  in.  That  cannot  be ; 
and  therefore  I  must  go  away." 

It  was  appalling  to  think  that  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  must  sever  the  ties  which  bound  him  to  one  he 
so  deeply  loved.     Then,  in  the  darkness,  he  seemed  to  see 


IVANLANDE  129 

the   dying  Semenof  coming  towards  him,  a  vision  that 
strangely  thrilled  him, 

"Here  I  lie,"  he  thought,  "convinced  that,  by  this 
rupture  I  am  bound  to  create  sorrow  and  pain,  and  yet 
— perhaps,  in  spite  of  everything,  what  is  there,  if  I  look 
before  or  after  ?  Chaos,  a  limitless  void  !  I  am  less, 
far  less,  than  a  grain  of  sand  ;  my  life  in  eternity  scarcely 
counts  for  a  moment.  It  is  as  if  it  had  never  existed. 
Yet  here  I  live,  and  believe,  and  devote  myself  to  others  ? 
What  is  this  that  I  am  doing  ?  " 

He  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he 
were  suspended  above  some  horrible  abyss.  Then  he 
remembered  a  kitten  that  one  of  Versehilof's  coachmen 
had  picked  up  by  the  scruff  of  its  neck  and  flung  on  the 
ground.  Poor  little  kitten !  It  was  killed  instantly. 
It  was  as  if  he  himself  had  been  seized  by  the  neck  and 
were  hanging  helpless  in  mid  air,  at  the  point  of  death. 
In  another  moment  he  would  be  flung  to  the  ground  ; 
a  terrific  blow ;  and  then  silence,  darkness,  the  end  ! 
To  his  over-wrought  nerves  this  sense  of  solitude  was 
unbearable.  Involuntarily  he  attempted  to  pray :  "  Oh, 
Lord,  Lord  !  " 

Suddenly,  amid  the  general  whirl  of  ideas  and  im- 
pressions, one  thought  seemed  to  emerge  like  a  flame  : 

"  I  pray  here,  as  I  lie  in  a  warm  bed,  while  Versehilof's 
workmen  after  a  hard  day's  work  are  sleeping  on  the  bare 
boards." 

Urged  by  a  sudden  impulse  he  sprang  up,  fell  on  his 
knees  and  pressed  his  burning  brow  to  the  cold  floor. 
As  he  wept  there,  in  the  darkness  and  the  silence,  to  his 
soul  there  suddenly  came  peace.  He  remembered  the 
workmen,  and  at  once  determined  to  give  them  the 
money ;  all  of  it,  all  that  he  had.  How  to  do  this,  as 
yet  he  knew  not ;  nor  did  he  ever  think  that  this  would 
grieve  his  mother,  rouse  opposition  from  others,  and 
add  to  the  cares  of  his  own  life.  Yet  a  sense  of  new- 
found joy  overcame  him  as,  straight  and  shining,  the  road 
that  he  should  take  lay  clearly  before  his  soul. 


IV 

Next  morning  Lande  went  to  the  prison,  the  white 
high  walls  of  which  shone  at  some  distance  from  the 
town,  as  they  rose  above  the  broad  bank  of  the  river 
and  near  a  pleasant  green  meadow.  The  sunlit  bayonets 
of  the  sentries,  dark  sohtary  figures,  flashed  in  the  blue 
air. 

Lande  was  conducted  to  the  Inspector,  a  man  with  a 
long  silvery  beard,  such  as  one  might  see  in  some  picture 
of  a  saint.  He  received  Lande  politely,  as  his  thin  lips 
moved  nervously,  and  the  look  on  his  face  was  one  of 
inquiry  and  distrust. 

"  My  name  is  Lande.  Perhaps  you  know  me  ?  I  am 
anxious  to  see  Tkatchof,  he  who  the  day  before  yesterday 
was  acquitted.  I  understand  that  he  is  still  here." 
The  Inspector's  bony  fingers  moved  slightly. 
"  That  you  can  do  ;  yes.  He  is  still  with  us.  You 
can  see  him,  of  course,"  he  repeated,  as  if  to  convince 
himself  of  the  fact.  "  You  shall  be  accompanied  to  his 
cell,  or  he  can  come  here,  if  you  like." 

"  I  would  rather  go  to  him.     Possibly  he  would  not 
wish  to  come  and  see  me,  as  he  hardly  knows  who  I  am." 
The  Inspector  looked  hard  at  Lande  for  a  moment  and 
frowned. 

"  Sidorof,  accompany  this  gentleman  !  " 
"  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do  about  this  fellow  ?  " 
asked  Lande,  in  a  confidential  tone.     "  You  see,  I  should 

like  to  propose " 

"  You  can  discuss  all  that  with  him  personally,"  was 
the  Inspector's  brusque  rejoinder,  as  he  busied  himself 
with  papers  on  his  desk. 

An  old  soldier  with  a  bristly  moustache  and  a  black 
baggy  uniform  raised  his  ragged  cuff  to  salute  the  Inspector 
and  said  : 

"  At  your  service,  sir  !  This  way,  please." 
Lande  followed  him  into  the  courtyard.     It  was  clean 
and  spacious,  yet  the  air  seemed  close,  although  above  it 

130 


IVANLANDE  131 

lay  the  soft  spring  sky.  It  smelt  of  sour  cabbage-soup 
and  cobblers'  shops  ;  there  was  also  a  strong  penetrating 
stench  from  the  latrines. 

"  Not  exactly  a  nice  sort  of  place,  this,"  said  Lande. 

With  his  little  peasant's  eyes  Sidorof  glanced  round  the 
yard  in  comic  perplexity,  as  if  to  find  out  what  was  not 
nice  about  it. 

"  No,  it's  not,"  was  his  brisk,  cheery  reply.  It  seemed 
to  please  him  greatly  that  he  and  Lande  were  of  the 
same  opinion. 

Lande  watched  how  the  fellow  plodded  along  clumsily 
in  front  of  him,  and  added  : 

"  A  sorry  business,  isn't  it,  to  have  to  watch  over 
other  men  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  replied  Sidorof  in  the  same  cheerful  tone, 

"  It  was  better,  at  home,  in  your  village,  when  you 
were  working  in  the  fields,"  said  Lande,  feeling  full  of 
pity  for  the  soldier. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Sidorof,  "  working  in  the  fields  is  all 
right." 

It  was  this  cheery  voice  of  his  that  made  Lande  feel 
happier. 

"  Why  has  Tkatchof  not  yet  been  discharged  ?  He 
has  been  acquitted." 

"  He  doesn't  want  to  go,"  said  Sidorof  smiling. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  'I  have  no  place  to  go  to,'  says  he.  What  an  idea 
to  be  sure  !      He's  a  funny  chap." 

Lande  grew  pensive ;  sadness  like  a  shadow  passed 
across  his  soul. 

Leaving  the  courtyard,  they  went  along  a  narrow 
vaulted  corridor  which  after  the  bright  sunlight  outside 
seemed  unusually  dark.  One  saw  here  nothing  but 
cold,  muddy  stone  and  rusty  iron.  Dirty,  ill-clad 
men  of  various  ages,  but  all  with  the  same  ansemic, 
bloated  faces,  lounged  about  listlessly  from  door  to 
door.  They  looked  at  Lande  with  unfriendly,  hostile 
eyes,  stood  against  the  wall,  and  then  retreated  to 
the  obscurity  of  the  damp  corridor.  In  one  of  the 
cells  somebody  began  to  sing,   but    the  song    sounded 


132  IVAN    LAND  E 

more  like  a  curse,  so  wild  was  it,  and  so  full  of  vile 
words. 

"  Tkatcliof  1  " 

Sidorof's  voice  echoed  cheerily  down  the  corridor. 

"  Hallo  !  Tkatchof  !  You,  there  1  Some  one's  calling 
you  !  Can't  you  hear  ?  "  cried  several  prisoners,  as  if 
glad  to  be  able  to  shout  for  some  real  reason.  At  the 
entrance  to  one  of  the  cells,  a  grimy,  gaunt  man  appeared 
in  a  prison-jacket  far  too  large  for  him.  He  had  promi- 
nent cheek-bones,  and  he  eyed  Lande  suspiciously. 

"  I  want  to  see  you,"  said  the  latter,  as  he  held  out  his 
hand  and  smiled,  so  as  to  assure  him  of  his  kindly  in- 
tentions. Tkatchof  shook  hands  in  awkward  fashion, 
yet  as  if  the  visit  did  not  at  all  surprise  him.  "  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  you  about  something,"  said  Lande. 

Tkatchof  looked  at  him  with  greater  suspicion,  as  he 
bit  his  thin,  dry  hps  and  stepped  unwillingly  aside. 

"  This  is  where  I  live — here  !  "  he  said  in  a  husky 
voice. 

Lande  followed  him  into  his  cell,  a  vaulted  room,  so 
small,  damp  and  stuffy  that  it  seemed  amazing  to  think 
that  it  was  the  abode  of  a  full-grown  man  and  not  of 
some  little  hunted  animal. 

After  pausing  to  reflect  Tkatchof  knit  his  brows  and 
then  pushed  a  stool  towards  Lande. 

"  Please  sit  down,"  he  said  in  a  vague  tone,  Lande 
did  so,  and  looked  tenderly  at  the  other. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want  from  me  ?  "  asked  Tkatchof; 
and,  as  his  eyebrows  worked  uneasily  beneath  this  glance, 
his  face  had  not  a  harsh,  but  a  pitiful  expression  such  as 
that  of  a  sickly  child. 

"  I  want  nothing,"  replied  Lande  kindly,  "  I  only 
heard  about  you,  and  so  I  came." 

"  But  for  what  reason  ?  "  asked  Tkatchof  suspiciously. 

"  Well,  I  felt  sorry  that  you  had  been  so  upset  and 
unfortunate,  and  I  thought  that  it  might  make  it  easier 
for  you  if  I  came  to  see  you." 

"Pity?  I  don't  want  your  pity,"  replied  Tkatchof 
gruffly,  turning  towards  the  window  as  with  lean,  grimy 
fingers  he  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table. 


IVANLANDE  133 

Lande  gently  took  hold  of  his  hand. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  It's  not  true.  Your  life's 
been  embittered  by  misfortune,  and  if  you  stole,  it  was 
only  because  you've  known  so  little  of  human  sympathy 
and  love.  I  have  come  to  you  without  any  afterthought, 
but  with  an  open  heart  and  a  sincere  desire  to  help  you 
if  I  can.     So,  why  say  anything  to  wound  me  ?  " 

Tkatchof  glanced  shyly  at  Lande's  hand  that  in  this 
gentle  trustful  way  was  holding  his  own  grimy  one,  and 
all  at  once  he  blushed. 

"  I  don't  want  anybody,"  he  replied  sullenly,  as  he 
drew  back  his  hand.     "  That's  all  nonsense  1  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Lande,  with  a  pained  look  on  his 
face. 

Turning  towards  him  Tkatchof  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  Your  question,  simple  as  it  is,  puts  me  in  rather 
a  silly  position,"  he  replied,  with  a  certain  pompous 
bitterness  of  tone.  "  After  all,  why  should  I  have 
anything  to  do  with  you  ?  "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  turned  to  the  window  where  pigeons  were  cooing, 
though  through  the  barred  window-pane  they  could  not 
be  seen. 

"  There  !  I  feed  them.  They're  my  friends,"  he  said 
after  a  pause,  as  a  nervous  smile  flickered  on  his  pinched 
lips. 

"  The  pigeons  ?    Ah  !  I  see  !  " 

Lande  smiled  also.  "Of  course  they're  friends.  It's 
not  true  that  there  must  be  eternal  hatred  and  de- 
struction. There's  no  necessity,  there  can't  be  any 
necessity  for  this.  On  the  contrary  we  must  all  try  to 
protect  one  another,  and  be  friends,  brothers.  You 
know  I  think  everything's  all  wrong  at  present ;  it's 
not  as  it  ought  to  be.  To  put  an  end  to  this,  to  make 
things  better  in  the  world,  that  is  what  we've  got  to  do. 
I  believe  that " 

"  I  don't  understand  your  fine  phrases,"  broke  in 
Tkatchof,  obviously  wishing  to  be  rude, 

Lande  smiled  sadly. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  express  my  meaning  in  any  better 
way.     Don't  you  really  understand  me  ?     Oh  I   I  believe 


134  IVANLANDE 

that  you  do.  I  wanted  to  say  that  evil  and  hatred 
don't  exist  of  themselves,  but  they  are  the  result  of  the 
work  of  forming  the  world.     They  must  be  conquered." 

"  Ah  !  yes,"  sneered  Tkatchof,  "  what  an  easy  task  !  " 

"  No,  not  easy ;  hard,  fearfully  hard.  But  not  im- 
possible. No  hate  nor  wrath  is  so  strong  that  it  cannot 
be  overcome." 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  all  this?"  asked  Tkatchof 
interrupting. 

"  Because,"  replied  Lande,  grasping  the  other's  hand 
for  fear  that  he  might  go,  "  because  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  have  ceased  to  believe  that  such  things  were  possible. 
I  am  sure  that  you  think  that  Evil  is  everlasting  and  at 
all  times  triumphant ;  you  think  that  one  should  not 
fight  against  it,  but  yield  to  it.  That  would  be  awful. 
Yet  this  is  not  so.  You  have  simply  lost  heart ;  have 
become  embittered  by  misfortune,  and  you  make  even 
denser  the  atmosphere  of  hatred  that  surrounds  you,  as 
if  this  were  the  only  air  in  which  you  had  really  ever 
learnt  to  breathe.  Ah  1  Tkatchof,  but  what  an  awful 
mistake  !  You  feel  that  it  is  ;  you  find  it  difficult  to 
breathe,  terribly  difficult,  eh  ?  " 

Tkatchof  did  not  answer,  but  breathed  heavily  through 
his  nose. 

"  One  must  not  requite  hate  with  hate,"  continued 
Lande,  as  his  large  eyes  shone,  and  the  words  he  uttered 
came  spontaneously  as  some  fervent,  soul-inspired  song. 
"  Only  in  this  way  can  it  be  overcome.  Nor  does  one 
ever  feel  such  ease,  such  satisfaction,  as  when  conquering 
personal  hatred,  as  when  refusing  to  retaliate  if  assailed 
by  hatred  from  some  other  quarter.  Does  not,  then, 
this  feeling  show  us  which  way  is  ours  ?  And  to  all  of 
us  is  it  not  a  joy  ?  What  tortures  would  not  men  endure 
for  its  sake !  And,  though  men  should  treat  you  badly, 
even  cruelly,  external  relations  with  others  must  neces- 
sarily differ  and  cannot  always  be  equal.  Keconciliation 
is  really  an  easy  matter  if  only " 

"  Have  you  ever  known  what  it  is  to  be  hungry  ?  " 
was  Tkatchof's  cutting  interpolation.  "  Tell  me  that, 
Mr.  Lande." 


IVANLANDE  135 

"  Oh  !  why  talk  like  that  ?  "  pleaded  Lande.  "  You 
know  that  for  his  ideas  man  can  suffer  hunger  and  pain — 
even  death.  The  martyrs  endured  the  most  horrible 
torments." 

"  Ah  !  but  they  were  martyrs  1  "  said  Tkatchof,  as 
he  jerked  back  his  head. 

"Do  you  think,  then,  that  the  martyrs  were  in  any 
way  remarkable  people  ?  No  ;  I  and  you,  and  every- 
body, even  the  most  insignificant  of  men,  is  ready  to 
bear  all  things  for  an  idea,  if  only  it  be  his  idea,  what  he 
personally  feels.     Isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  that's  true,"  said  Tkatchof  gruffly. 

"  True  !  Of  course  it  is  !  "  Lande's  face  became  radiant, 
"  Truth  lives  in  mankind  ;  it  is  in  human  beings  that 
this  enormous  force  exists.  As  this  is  so,  man  is  able 
to  attain  all  things.  Each  of  us  can  !  Each  of  us  can 
battle  against  every  opposing  power  and  conquer. 

"  What  made  you  steal,  Tkatchof  ?  " 

Tkatchof  trembled,  and  gradually  grew  pale,  as  he 
glared  furiously  at  Lande. 

"  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  "  he  exclaimed  hoarsely, 
as  he  stretched  out  his  long,  grimy  neck. 

"  I  know  why,"  said  Lande  with  quivering  lips,  "  and 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  it." 

The  expression  on  Tkatchof's  face  was  now  fearful 
to  behold.  Close  to  him  Lande  saw  the  man's  eyes, 
their  dark  pupils  fully  dilated,  and  in  their  depths  a 
quenchless  flame  of  furious  hate.  If  he  so  much  as 
winked,  thought  Lande,  the  other  would  either  knock 
him  down  or  spit  in  his  face.     But  he  never  winced. 

Suddenly  Tkatchof  looked  down. 

"  You  know  nothing,"  he  said  in  a  defiant  tone. 

"  Oh  I  but  I  do,"  replied  Lande  firmly.  "  Your  whole 
life  is  known  to  me  ;  I  have  heard  much  about  it ;  and, 
when  speaking  yourself  in  court,  you  said  a  good  deal 
which  was  afterwards  repeated  to  me.  Your  account  of 
things  was  so  accurate,  so  vivid,  so  that  one  scarcely " 

A  look  of  foolish  vanity  crossed  Tkatchof's  face. 

"  I  expect  you  thought  that  it's  only  the  likes  of  you 
gentlemen   students   that   know   how    to    speak  ?     No, 


136  IVANLANDE 

those  days  are  over.      Now  ..."  and  so  he  rambled  on, 
never  keeping  to  the  point. 

"  I  know,"  said  Lande,  "  that  you've  always  had  a 
hard  life  of  it,  and  yet  that  you  never  stole,  never  drank, 
never  smoked.  I  know,  too,  that  you  studied  the  Gospel, 
and  that  you  gave  up  eating  meat." 

"  That's  all  nonsense  1  "  replied  Tkatchof  with  affected 
scorn. 

"No,  no,  it's  not  nonsense  1  It  is  a  tremendous  thing 
when  a  man  shows  such  self-discipline.  For  that  it 
needs  enormous  will-power,  and  that  will-power  you 
had,  Tkatchof.  Why  does  it  fail  you  now  ?  "  pleaded 
Lande,  as  he  caught  hold  of  the  other's  hand.  "  Why 
didn't  you  fight  it  out  to  the  end  ?  " 

"  To  what  end,  pray  ?  "  asked  Tkatchof,  as  his 
features  became  distorted  by  a  malicious  grimace  and  he 
snatched  away  his  hands, 

"  To  victor}?-,  Tkatchof !  A  man  can  conquer  all 
things  if  he  fights  for  his  ideas.  Your  idea  was  that 
all  men  are  as  one  ;  that  life  and  feeling  are  one,  and 
should  be  good  and  beautiful.  You  would  have  con- 
quered, too,  Tkatchof.  You've  such  a  strong  character. 
Why,  then,  did  you  lose  heart  ?     What  happened  ?  " 

Tkatchof  did  not  answer.  Lande  was  silent  also, 
shaken,  indeed  exhausted,  by  violent  emotion.  His 
lips  and  hands  trembled  ;  only  his  eyes  beamed  as  before 
with  love  and  pity.  For  some  time  Tkatchof  was 
silent. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Lande,"  he  said  at  last,   looking  away, 

"  you  said  just  now  that  you  knew  me.      That's  true 

enough.     You  knoAv  .  .  .  know  about  my  unfortunate 

life  and  how  wretched  I  have  been.     Yes,  but  I  know 

all  about  you,  too.     You're  a  good  fellow ;  everybody 

says  that,  and  I'm  sure  it's  a  fact.     You're  one  of  the 

best  in  this  place  ;    perhaps  in  the  whole  world  there  is 

not  a  better.     I  think  that  you  may  be  a  saint,  for  you 

have  such  a  simple  soul ;    clear  as  glass.     Therefore  I 

should  like  to  ask  you  one  thing  :    what  were  you  about 

while  all  this  was  happening  to  me  ?  " 

Lande  raised  his  hand. 


IVAN    LAND  E  137 

"  No,  first  let  me  finish,  please,"  exclaimed  Tkatchof, 
and  there  was  hatred  in  his  voice.  "  You  were  everything 
to  me  once,  Mr.  Lande  ;  everything  in  my  life  and  that's 
the  truth.  I've  known  you  for  a  long  while.  At  that 
time  you  were  only  a  child,  and  I  wasn't  grown  up, 
either.  Ah  !  you  meant  so  much  to  me  in  those  days  1 
Do  you  remember,  Mr.  Lande,  how  I  came  to  you  once 
to  get  some  books  ?  You  were  just  about  to  start  off  on 
a  journey,  and  were  packing  up  your  things  in  the  front 
room.  I'd  been  waiting  three  years  for  you,  and  you, 
what  did  you  say  to  me  ?  " 

"Tkatchof,  Tkatchof,  that's  right,"  stammered 
Lande,  but  .  .  ,  yet,  ..." 

Tkatchof's  face  was  like  black  stone,  as  clenching  his 
teeth  he  hissed  out : 

"  You  told  me  that  you  were  going  away ;  that  you 
hadn't  time,  but  that  you'd  have  a  talk  to  me  later  on  ! 
That  was  all !  And  there  was  I,  waiting  for  a  word  from 
you  that  could  have  changed  my  whole  life  1  It's  this 
way  :  either  you  didn't  understand  me,  didn't  see  that 
I  was  in  earnest,  or  else,  though  you  saw  all  this,  your 
journey  and  your  private  affairs  were  of  more  importance 
to  you.  That's  what  it  was,  Mr.  Lande,  eh  ?  Or  am 
I  mistaken  ?  " 

"  By  God,"  cried  Lande,  "  I  swear  that  I  would  have 
stopped,  if  at  that  time  I  had  really  understood 
you.  For  this  you  were  alone  to  blame,  Tkatchof. 
You  should  have  been  more  open  with  me ;  you 
should  have  knocked  vigorously  at  the  door  of  my 
soul.  You  must  have  seen  that  I  didn't  understand 
you  1  " 

"  Must  have  seen  ?  "  replied  Tkatchof,  as  he  smiled 
bitterly.  That's  just  it.  I  did  see  ;  and  that's  what 
threw  me  off  the  right  track  once  and  for  all  1  " 

Lande  looked  aghast. 

"  Had  you  really  considered  that  your  journey  and 
your  interests  were  of  more  importance  than  the  coming 
to  you  of  a  man  who  wanted  spiritual  comfort  and 
guidance  I  should  probably  have  said  to  myself,  '  Another 
humbug,  like  the  rest  1  '     But  that  was  not  the  case. 


138  IVANLANDE 

I  saw  that  you  simply  didn't  understand  me  ;  didn't 
perceive  how  troubled  I  was.  .  .  ." 

Lande's  fingers  twitched  nervously. 

"  Such  a  thing  might  happen  to  anybody.  There  are 
times  when  the  soul  of  a  man  slumbers.  So,  at  that 
time,  I  slumbered.  Yet,  why  did  you  not  rouse  me  from 
my  sleep  ?  " 

Again  the  other  smiled  cynically. 

"What  I  thought  was  this,"  he  repHed.  "Here's  a 
man,  one  of  the  best,  a  man  whose  like  I  shall  never  meet 
again  in  my  whole  life — well,  to  have  to  rouse  even  his 
soul  within  him  is  a  difficult  matter.  ,  ,  ," 

"  Not  always,  Tkatchof." 

"  No,  not  always.  The  man  in  question  is  an  uncom- 
mon sort  of  man.  Yet  even  he  needs  an  occasional 
shaking-up  until  he  can  sympathise  with  another's  grief  ! 
What  about  other  men,  ordinary  men  ?  I  expect  no 
amount  of  shaking  would  ever  serve  to  rouse  them,  eh  ?  " 
"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  sneered  Tkatchof. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;    one  will  rouse  them  in  time." 

"  But  to  go  about  knocking  at  the  hearts  of  others  like 
this — why,  life's  too  short  for  such  a  thing  !  " 

Tkatchof  stopped,  as  if  in  triumph.  A  light  seemed 
to  transfigure  Lande's  face  as  he  replied  : 

"  Why,  Tkatchof,  that  in  itself  is  a  whole  life's  work. 
Alone  the  echo  of  such  knocking  is  a  joy  that  thrills  one, 
as  we  feel  that,  if  we  cannot  reach  every  heart,  we  are 
yet  finding  our  way  into  the  universal  heart  of  humanity, 
and  that  our  efforts  can  never  die,  but  that  others  will 
knock,  as  we  have  done,  so  that  heart  after  heart  will 
be  touched,  until,  one  day.  .  .  ." 

"  Aha  !  "  laughed  Tkatchof,  but  the  laugh  may  have 
really  masked  his  inward  anguish. 

"  You  think  it's  ridiculous,  eh,  Tkatchof  ?  "  asked 
Lande,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  You  don't 
believe  it  ?  " 

"  What  an  idea  to  be  sure  1  To  live  in  a  fool's  paradise 
and  believe  that  in  suffering  one  can  find  joy  !  And  I, 
when  I  led  the  old  life,  was  just  as  badly  off  as  if  I  had 
never  knocked  1     Ha  1    Ha  1    If  I  drank,  it  was  death  ; 


IVANLANDE  139 

and  if  I  didn't  drink,  it  was  death  too  1  You  must  look 
about  you  for  some  other  fool  to  swallow  that  !  " 

His  voice  sounded  harsh  and  insolent.  If  Lande  had 
still  cherished  any  hope  of  making  Tkatchof  understand 
him  that  voice  extinguished  it. 

"  Tkatchof,"  he  began  timidly,  "  you  must  pull 
yourself  together.  You  must  get  away  from  here.  You 
have  been  too  much  influenced  by  these  horrible  sur- 
roundings. 

"  Where  shall  I  go  ?  "  was  the  other's  mocking  question. 

"Anywhere.  To  me  if  you  like.  I've  brought  you 
some  money,  so,  take  it  and  go  away  from  here  and  forget 
everything.     After  a  time,  when  you've  got  over  it.  .  .  ." 

"  Money  ?  "  asked  Tkatchof  shutting  his  eyes  tightly. 
Then,  in  a  brutal  outburst  of  fury  and  despair,  "  I  don't 
want  any  money  from  you  !  He  wants  to  stop  my  mouth 
with  money  !     Get  out  with  you  !  " 

"Tkatchof,  Tkatchof,  why?  Dear  Tkatchof, 
I've  ..."  stammered  Lande  as  he  grasped  the  other's 
hand.  But  Tkatchof  shook  him  off  and  hurried  out  of 
the  cell.  Then  he  suddenly  came  back  and  stood  in  the 
doorway  gazing  at  Lande  as  he  muttered  to  himself  : 

"  There's  a  saint  for  you  1  A  holy  man  on  stilts  1 
Blockhead  1  " 

With  that  he  marched  off  along  the  corridor. 

Lande  called  after  him,  in  despair  ; 

"Tkatchof!  Tkatchof!" 

But  the  other,  without  answering,  went  away. 


Late  that  evening  Shishmariof  came  to  Lande.  The 
latter's  decision  to  give  away  his  money  to  the  poor  had 
roused  his  enthusiasm.  Yet,  in  a  way,  it  had  caused 
him  a  certain  uneasiness  ;  and,  though  he  knew  that 
what  Lande  chose  to  do  was  no  concern  of  his,  he  could 
not  help  feeling  apprehensive.  He  came  hurriedly  into 
the  room  and,  shaking  Lande  by  the  hand,  while  avoiding 
his  gaze,  he  said  : 

"  Well,  here  I  am  !  " 

Lande  at  once  opened  a  drawer  from  which  he  took 
out  four  long  packets  of  notes  that  rustled  in  his  slender 
fingers. 

"  I  wanted  just  to  say,"  began  Shishmariof,  in  a 
forced  voice,  as  if  some  one  had  pushed  him  from  behind. 
"  Perhaps,  you  won't  give  all  of  it  away  ?  " 

As  if  he  were  thinking  of  something  else,  Lande  replied 
simply : 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  If  one  gives  any,  one 
must  give  all."     Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added  : 

"  Lionia,  I  won't  go  with  you,  so  you  must  distribute 
it  yourself.  I'll  tell  you  why.  Mother  is  furious  with 
me  about  this  money.  I  must  have  a  talk  to  her  and 
soothe  her,  if  I  can." 

With  some  hesitation  Shishmariof  took  the  notes. 

"  Ah  1    you  see,  your  mother's  dissatisfied  !  "  he  said. 

On  Lande's  face  there  was  a  faint  smile  as  he  answered 
earnestly : 

"  In  a  case  of  this  kind  a  mother  must  not  be  con- 
sidered." 

Still  Shishmariof  did  not  move;  feeling  evidently 
more  and  more  uncomfortable. 

"  I   really  don't   see   how   by  myself  I   can "  he 

faltered. 

Lande  smiled,  and,  with  a  gesture  of  indifference,  said  ; 

"  Somehow  or  other  !  Your  heart  will  tell  you  what 
to  do.     God  knows  it's  not  such  a  difficult  task." 

140 


IVAN    LAND  E  141 

"  Well,  as  you  wish,"  was  Shishmariof's  reluctant 
consent,  as  he  took  up  his  cap.  All  at  once  he  felt  such 
pity  for  Lande  that  he  could  almost  have  wept.  The 
bare,  uncomfortable  room  suggested  the  solitude  of  a 
cloister.  Lande  looked  ill  and  depressed.  Shishmariof 
could  not  help  wondering  why  a  man  who  had  done  such 
a  noble  deed  should  not  appear  pleased  or  proud. 

"  He  is  a  strange  fellow,"  thought  Shishmariof,  and, 
though  not  aware  of  it  himself,  this  reflection  lessened 
his  sympathy  for  Lande  and  his  generous  act. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Lande. 

"  Vania  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  his  mother's  quavering  voice  outside 
the  door  Lande  winced. 

"  Go,  Lionia,"  he  said  gently,  but  firmly. 

Still  Shishmariof  hesitated.  The  money  burned  his 
hand  as  if  it  had  been  stolen. 

"  You  must  just  leave  it,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a 
shade  of  annoyance  in  his  tone. 

"  No,"  replied  Lande  as  he  shook  his  head.     "  They're 

in  such  terrible  distress.     As  for  my  mother,  well 

Anyhow,  the  money's  mine,  to  do  what  I  like  with." 

Lande's  mother  entered.  Her  care-worn,  kindly  face 
showed  now  extreme  agitation  and  anger.  She  was 
breathing  hard.  Her  son  hurried  towards  her,  and, 
clasping  her  hands,  held  them  to  his  heart. 

"  Mother,  don't !  "  he  said,  with  a  pleading  look, 
Shishmariof  bowed  awkwardly. 

"  Don't  what  ?  "  she  cried,  snatching  her  hands  away. 

The  shrill,  harsh  voice  seemed  to  tell  one  how  much 
in  the  past  she  had  screamed  and  wept. 

"  You've  no  right  to  do  this  1  Do  you  suppose  that 
your  father  slaved  all  his  Ufa  just  for  a  pack  of  paupers  ? 
Fool  that  you  are  1  " 

"  Go,  Lionia,"  said  Lande. 

His  mother  sprang  forward  and  placed  herself  between 
Shishmariof  and  the  door,  though  he  had  never  moved 
from  where  he  stood.  Her  hair  was  dishevelled,  and  her 
wild  eyes  expressed  greed  and  fear. 

"  You've  encouraged  him  to  do  this  !  "  she  screamed, 


142  IVANLANDE 

in  a  fury.  "  Hoav  dare  you  ?  I'll  denounce  you  to  the 
police.     It's  robbery  !  " 

"  I  "  .  .  ,  stammered  Shishmariof,  feeling  surprised 
and  hurt. 

"  Give  up  that  money  !  "  shouted  the  old  woman, 
and  she  snatched  the  notes  from  Shishmariof  with 
her  claw-like  fingers. 

"  Take  it,"  cried  the  latter  in  a  fury,  as  he  clenched 
his  fists  and  turned  to  Lande. 

"  It  won't  do,  you  see,"  he  said  with  difficulty. 

"  So,  good-bye.     I'll  be  off." 

"  Yes,  Lionia,  go,"  replied  Lande  sadly.  "  Don't  be 
angry  with  me," 

Shishmariof  looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  speak,  yet  he 
said  nothing  and  went  out.  There  was  a  dead  silence. 
With  her  hand  thrust  deep  into  her  pocket  the  old  woman 
gripped  the  bundle  of  notes,  while  Lande  mournfully 
watched  her.  Though  shut  together  in  that  little  room, 
each  felt  hopelessly,  utterly  alone. 

"  For  goodness'  sake  give  up  this  stupid  idea  !  "  said 
his  mother  at  last. 

Lande  shook  his  head.     "  It's  not  stupid." 

"  Whom  do  you  think  you'll  impress  by  it,  pray  ?  " 
she  continued  in  a  mocking  tone.  "  Aren't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself  ?  To  think,  that  it  should  come  to  this  !  " 
she  whimpered,  and,  withdrawing  her  hand  from  her 
pocket,  she  began  to  cry.  Lande  did  not  answer.  The 
room  looked  dreary  in  the  dusk. 

"  Some  day  you'll  thank  me  !  "   sobbed  his  mother. 

"  I  don't  know  that.  Listen,  mother.  If  you  don't 
want  to  give  me  the  money  then  I  won't  ask  you  for  it. 
You  keep  it  for  yourself." 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  that  ?  "  she  exclaimed  in- 
dignantly. "  Do  you  suppose  I  Avant  it  ?  What's  the 
use  of  it  to  me  ?  I  am  not  long  for  this  world.  Think 
first  before  you  speak  in  that  way  !  " 

"  This  is  more  what  I  meant  to  say,  mother,"  replied 
Lande,  after  a  pause.  "  I  love  you  dearly,  as  you  know. 
But  you  think  that,  by  withholding  this  money  from  me, 
you  will  save  me  from  ruin,  and  I  am  convinced  that  what 


IVANLANDE  143 

you  are  doing  means  my  destruction.  Do  you  really 
suppose  that  I  should  ever  keep  this  money  for  myself, 
I  should  instantly  give  it  away,  either  to  these  people, 
or  to  others,  if  I  conscientiously  felt  that  I  ought  to  do 
so.     Therefore.  ..." 

"  You're  simply  raving  mad  !  "  cried  his  mother 
angrily. 

"  How  do  you  suppose  that  you're  going  to  live  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  should  manage  somehow.  There's  no  need 
to  worry  myself  about  that,"  said  Lande  with  conviction. 

"  Very  likely  you  expect  me  to  go  on  keeping  you  ?  " 
was  her  malignant  question. 

"  No  ;  I  shall  go  away.  It's  difficult  for  us  to  be 
together,  for  you  won't  let  me  lead  the  life  that  I  want  to 
lead,  and  I  shall  only  be  a  worry  to  you.  I  would  rather 
live  alone." 

She  stared  at  him,  as  all  the  blood  left  her  cheeks. 

"  Vania  !   What's  that  you  say  ?  "  she  stammered. 

Lande  sighed  gently  and,  kneeling  beside  her,  kissed 
her  hand  still  wet  with  tears.  Looking  down  at  his  head 
with  its  limp,  soft  hair,  she  felt  as  if  some  great  mischance 
were  near. 

"  Don't  cry,  mother  darling  !  It  is  better  so  !  "  said 
Lande  in  a  faint,  trembling  voice. 


VI 

Maria  Nicolaievna  sat  at  the  open  window,  gazing 
pensively  at  the  long  road,  one  side  of  which  was  bathed 
in  moonlight.  The  black  trees  had  a  petrified  look 
beneath  the  cold,  white  stars.  The  echo  of  approaching 
footsteps  could  be  heard  clearly  as  in  the  silence  a  man, 
yet  invisible,  came  nearer  and  nearer.  Strange  and 
mysterious  they  sounded,  bringing,  as  it  were,  with  them 
some  secret  that  was  theirs  alone. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  leaned  over  the  window-sill,  and, 
recognizing  the  figure  in  the  gloom,  called  out,  "  Ivan 
Ferapontovitch,  is  that  you  ?  " 

Lande  stopped  short,  and  then,  smiling,  came  up  to 
the  window. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Maria. 

"  I'm  going  home — to  Semenof.  I  am  living  with  him 
at  present,"  said  Lande  in  a  faint,  tired  voice.  As  he 
stood  close  to  the  window  she  could  clearly  see  his 
emaciated  face  and  large  eyes.  A  feeling  of  pity  and  of 
curiosity  which  Lande  always  roused  in  her  again  possessed 
Maria's  gentle  heart. 

"  Ivan  Ferapontovitch,"  she  asked  timidly,  "  is  it  true 
that  you  have  quarrelled  with  your  mother  and  don't  go 
near  her  ?  " 

Alarmed  at  her  own  temerity  she  hastily  added,  "  I'm 
asking  you  this  because  I  always  feel  so  sorry  for  you 
both,  and — I  may  ask  you  anything,  mayn't  I  ?  " 

"  One  can  ask  me  anything,  yes,"  said  Lande,  as  if 
repeating  her  words.  He  evidently  had  not  noticed  her 
trepidation,  and  continued  sadly  : 

"  I  have  not  quarrelled  with  her,  nor  with  anyone  else, 
ever.  I  still  love  my  mother  ;  even  more  now  that  she 
is  unhappy.  I  only  went  away  that  I  might  live  alone ; 
I  had  to  choose  one  of  two  things,  either,  not  to  live 
according  to  my  convictions,  or  else  to  go  away  from 
home.  I  think  that  you  would  have  acted  in  the  same 
way  that  I  did." 

144 


IVAN    LAND  E  145 

Maria  Nicolaievna,  as  she  looked  trustfully  at  him, 
said,  with  a  smile,  "  Oh,  no,  I'm  sure  that  I  could  never 
have  done  that  !  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  continued  Lande,  who  had  not  heard 
her  answer,  "it  is  easier  to  lay  down  one's  life — no,  I 
don't  know  how  to  express  myself !  "  and  he  laughed, 
but  said  no  more. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  asked  Maria  Nicolaievna, 
after  a  pause. 

"  In  the  monastery,"  was  the  reply. 
"  You    said    your    prayers,     I     hope  ?  "     she    asked 
jokingly. 

"  No,  I  just  went  there.     In  that  place  there  is  such 
peace.     And  I  prayed,  too,"  he  replied  gravely,   as  if 
ignoring  her  playful  question. 
"  You  believe  in  God,  then  ?  " 
Lande  looked  at  her  half  in  surprise. 
"  It  is  impossible  not  to  believe  in  him,"  he  said  in  a 
tone  of  calm  conviction. 

"  Why  is  it  impossible  ?  I,  for  instance,  don't  believe 
in  Him."  She  bent  her  head  slightly,  as  if  listening  to 
her  own  musical  voice. 

"  Don't  say  that  I  "  replied  Lande'  fervently.  "  It  is 
not  true.     We  all  of  us  believe  in  Him,  and  so  do  you," 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  grasped  her  dainty  little 
fingers. 

"  Look  upwards,  and  you'll  see  that  it's  impossible  not 
to  believe  in  Him,  Look  up  yonder,  to  the  heavens  I 
Look  1  " 

Maria  gazed  above  at  the  vast  immeasurable  firmament 
with  its  glittering  companies  of  stars,  here  brilliant  to  the 
view,  and  there  fading,  vanishing  in  the  realms  of  infinite 
space.  It  was  as  though  this  silence  by  its  cold,  mysterious 
serenity  had  brought  some  inscrutable,  revolving  force  to 
a  standstill  and  now  held  it  in  check. 

"  How  awful  it  looks  up  there  I "  said  Maria  Nicolaievna 
shuddering.  "  And  when  one  day  that  all  collapses  I 
Good  gracious  1  It's  too  horrible  to  think  of  such  a 
thing  1  " 

"  No,  that  will  not  collapse,"  he  replied.     "  Look  at 

K 


146  IVANLANDE 

those  boundless,  starlit  spaces  !  So  small  is  this  earth  of 
ours,  such  a  mere  atom,  that  we  get  not  a  glimpse  of  all 
that  mad  tempestuous  whirl.  Imagine  then  how  small 
a  thing  is  man  1  Every  moment,  every  milhonth  part 
of  a  moment,  this  huge  globe  is  swept  along  by  some 
terrific  force  to  distances  quite  inconceivable.  Yet  we 
notice  nothing,  but,  tiny  as  we  are,  we  calmly  travel 
onward  as  if  all  these  gigantic  masses  moved  out  of  our 
way,  and  as  if  a  hand  were  safely  guiding  us.  The 
slightest  hostile  force  could  wipe  us  out  of  existence,  but 
so  sure  and  free  is  the  development  of  the  history  of 
humanity  that  it  would  seem  to  be  the  very  nucleus  of 
the  universe." 

"  Doesn't  it  appear  to  you,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  as 
if  all  were  frozen  and  waiting  for  something  to  happen 
on  this  earth  of  ours,  which  one  day  must  occur  ?  When 
this  does  take  place  then  everything  will  suddenly  be  set 
in  motion  ;  destruction  here,  creation  there  ;  a  new  light 
bursting  on  our  vision  ;  new  transformations  ;  a  new  and 
yet  more  wondrous  life." 

The  silence  became  intense  as  Lande  ceased  speaking. 

"  How  cold  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  Maria  Nicolaievna, 
trembling.     "  Good  night  !  " 

She  withdrew  into  the  dark  room,  closed  the  window, 
and  Lande  was  left  on  the  lonely  road,  gazing  into  the 
fathomless  azure  spaces  overhead. 


VII 

Wrapped  in  a  sheet  that  left  exposed  to  view  his  lean, 
bare  legs,  and  looking  like  some  bad  imitation  of  a  ghost, 
Semenof  ojjened  the  door  for  Lande.  After  the  calm 
beauty  of  the  night  in  its  gentle  splendour,  the  scene 
that  now  met  his  eyes  seemed  at  first  unendurable.  The 
crude,  yellow  lamplight,  the  rickety  furniture,  the  bed- 
clothes in  disorder,  and  Semenof's  thin,  sallow  counten- 
ance and  scraggy  legs  provided  a  depressingly  squalid 
spectacle. 

Semenof  sat  down  on  the  bed,  looking  horribly  ill. 
His  wrinkled,  ashen  features,  his  scanty  locks  that, 
soaked  with  sweat,  adhered  to  his  febrile  brow,  and  his 
emaciated  body  with  its  angular  shoulder  blades,  all  told 
in  simple,  fearful  words  the  story  of  that  appalling 
malady  lurking  deep  within  man,  the  whole  enormity  of 
which  has  baffled  human  comprehension.  As  Lande  sat 
down  beside  him,  Semenof  stared  at  him  with  feverish 
eyes,  and  said  hastily,  "  I'm  so  glad  that  you've  come. 
I  feel  so  ill — terrified  at  something  or  other,  I'm  sure 
I'm  going  to  die  soon  1     I  know  I  am !  " 

It  sounded  as  if  his  fretful  complaint  were  not  addressed 
to  Lande,  but  to  some  one  within  his  own  suffering  body, 
asking  him  to  confirm  the  fears  that  tortured  him.  Filled 
with  pity  Lande  placed  both  his  arms  round  the  other's 
gaunt  shoulders. 

"  Vassia,  my  dear  old  boy  !  "  he  said,  as  he  sought  to 
console  and  convince  him  by  an  exposition  of  his  own 
simple  faith.  Cowering  and  motionless,  Semenof  gazed 
fixedly  at  the  flame  of  the  lamp.  His  thin  hps  were 
tightly  compressed,  and  as  Lande,  glancing  sideways, 
observed  his  glittering  eyes,  it  seemed  to  him  that  Semenof 
were  not  listening  to  a  single  word.  He  longed  to  shout 
in  his  ear  and  to  shake  his  shoulder  in  a  desperate  effort 
to  gain  his  attention.  Yet,  to  his  horror,  he  perceived 
that  such  solitary  suffering  had  caused  Semenof  to  become 
deaf  and  taciturn,  like  the  mute,  cold  lid  of  a  leaden 

147 


148  IVANLANDE 

coffin,  that  holds  within  it  some  hideous  secret  known  to 
itself  alone. 

"  Vassia,  I  am  certain  that  you  believe  !  "  cried  Lande. 
"  Do  you  remember  how  happy  and  cheerful  we  were 
when  we  spoke  together  about  God,  and  eternal  life,  and 
eternal  joy  ?  Why  are  you  silent,  Vassia  ?  Say  some- 
thing, do  !  " 

"  Listen  !  "  said  Semenof  suddenly,  not  in  his  usual 
mocking  tone.  His  voice  had  a  piteous,  tearful  quality 
in  it.  "  Oh,  Lande,  I  don't  want  to  die  !  All  you  say 
may  be  true  enough,  and  perhaps  I  shall  get  there  before 
you — to  our  common  goal.  There  may  be  a  God,  and  all 
that,  but  no  I  I  don't  want  to  die  !  It  grieves  me  to 
give  up  life,  to  lose  you,  and  the  sunlight,  the  grass  .  .  . 
to  go  from  it  all,  and  perhaps  never  to  set  eyes  on  it 


again 


1  " 


Lande  wept,  and  large  tears  coursed  down  his  anxious 
face,  as  he  moved  his  hands  helplessly.  Semenof  sat  up 
and  plucked  at  his  scanty  beard.  After  a  moment's 
meditation  he  sank  back  again.  Llis  ^vrinkled  features 
underwent  a  sudden  change,  looking  yellow  and  dry  as 
parchment. 

"  You're  a  fool,  Lande,"  he  said,  smiling  maliciously. 
"  Do  you  really  believe  that  all  this  silly  stuff  concerning 
God  matters  to  anyone  who  is  actually  about  to  die  ? 
It's  all  very  consoling  and  pleasant  to  think  of  immortality, 
one  has  to  think  of  it  in  order  to  hve.  But  when  death 
comes,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  God  either  before  or 
behind  one,  well,  such  self-delusion  is  impossible.  And 
Where's  the  good  of  it  ?  Don't  go  on  please  !  It  only 
irritates  me." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  weak,  querulous  tone, 
as  his  jaws  rattled  continuously. 

"  Here  I  suffer.  It's  very  poor  fun  for  me,  I  can  assure 
you.  My  life's  at  an  end  ;  all  enjoyment,  all  sense  of 
pleasure,  gone  !  All  that  is  left  to  me  is  suffering ;  the 
very  moment,  one  would  think,  when  your  God  would  be 
needed.  Otherwise  to  suffer  thus  is  absurd.  But  where 
is  He  ?  Where  is  your  God  ?  Why  doesn't  He  reveal 
Himself?     When  I  lie  in  my  death-agony,  and  my  legs 


IVANLANDE  149 

grow  cold,  cold — before  my  very  eyes,  and  I  feel  per- 
fectly conscious  of  this  .  .  .  why,  even  then,  I  shall  never 
be  certain  if  there's  really  a  God.  And,  if  I  were  certain, 
what  good  would  it  do  me  ?  " 

His  voice  sounded  shrill  and  sibilant,  as  almost  with  a 
shriek  it  ceased.  He  was  pale,  wide  eyed,  and  trembling 
all  over,  and  a  fearful  paroxysm  of  coughing  suddenly 
threatened  to  shake  him  to  pieces.  While  Lande  sup- 
ported him  with  trembling  hands,  Semenof  strove  to 
continue  speaking,  and  his  eyes  rolled  wildly. 

"  Of  what  good  is  your  God  ?  "  he  gasped,  when  he  had 
got  his  breath,  while  he  looked  nervously  at  his  blood- 
stained handkerchief.  "  To  a  healthy,  Hving  man,  I 
mean  ?  If  He  exists  at  all,  only  a  man  recognizes  this 
when  all  the  human  vital  part  of  him  is  dead,  when  the 
human  being  has  become  a  mere  corpse.  Well,  it's  time 
to  go  to  bed.     I'll  put  out  the  lamp." 

Lande  did  not  answer.  He  had  no  heart  to  speak  of 
his  faith  to  one  suffering  so  intensely,  and  who  was  only 
two  feet  away  from  him. 

Semenof  watched  him  closely  and  smihng  bitterly, 
continued  : 

"  Do  you  know  what  I've  been  thinking  about,  Lande  ? 
All  men  are  my  brothers  and  therefore  they  will  come  to 
give  me  their  last  brotherly  kisses.  Well,  do  you  know, 
that  if  there's  one  thing  that  cheers  me  it  is  to  feel  that 
thus  they  might  all  catch  their  death  !  " 

He  flung  himself  back  into  bed,  and  stretched  himself 
out  rigid,  shrunken  as  some  lifeless  bird.  Lande  put  out 
the  lamp  and  lay  down,  dressed  as  he  was,  burying  his 
face  in  the  pillows.  That  night  he  got  no  sleep.  He 
hardly  noticed  the  passing  of  the  hours,  since  he  seemed  to 
stand  outside  the  pale  of  time.  In  this  restless  state  he 
reflected  that  he  himself  had  not  yet  got  a  firm  hold  of 
the  faith  that  he  professed  if  the  power  failed  him  to  reveal 
it  to  others.  Silent,  constant  probing  of  his  own  soul 
could  alone  make  that  faith  clear  and  steadfast,  and  pre- 
vent it  from  being  shaken  by  momentary  gusts  of  human 
sympathy.  Vague  at  first  and  undefined,  this  thought 
printed  itself  deeply  upon  his  brain  and  heart. 


VIII 

Whenever  Maria  Nicolaievna  saw  Lande,  his  presence 
seemed  to  her  refreshingly  sympathetic  ;  as  if  a  gentle 
ray  of  morning  light  had  gladdened  her  soul.  Whether 
excited  or  depressed,  or  full  of  vague  longing,  directly  she 
encountered  Lande's  kindly,  trustful,  childlike  gaze  she 
became  calm.  Specially  did  she  experience  his  feeling 
of  joyous  serenity  on  a  certain  golden  evening  about  a 
month  after  Lande's  arrival,  as  they  went  out  walking 
together.  When  they  had  passed  the  last  cottages  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town  they  came  to  broad  level  spaces 
of  white  sand.  In  the  light  of  the  sinking  sun  their  long 
shadows  seemed  to  race  ahead,  with  feet  lifted  grotesquely 
high  like  black  arrows  pointing  out  the  way.  Seated  on 
a  mound  at  some  distance  was  a  man  whose  figure, 
illumined  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  stood  out  clearly 
against  the  blue  sky. 

"  There's  Molotchaief  !  "  said  Maria  Nicolaievna.  The 
artist,  as  they  could  see,  was  bending  over  a  small  easel. 
Poised  on  its  thin  pointed  legs  it  had  a  droll  effect. 

"  Do  you  hke  Molotchaief  ?  "  asked  Maria  Nicolaievna, 
confident  that  the  answer  would  be  of  that  calm,  kindly 
sort  which  Lande  alone  could  give. 

Lande  smiled. 

"  I  like  everybody,"  he  said,  "  All  men,  virtually, 
are  the  same,  and,  if  you  love  humanity,  you  love  each 
and  every  man." 

"  But  surely  there  are  some  better  or  worse  than 
others  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  that  there  are.  We  are  apt  to 
think  so  merely  because  we  do  not  estimate  a  man  by 
the  good  qualities  which  each  one,  whatever  else  she  may 
be,  possesses,  but  by  his  relation  to  certain  individual  facts 
which  one  views  from  one's  own  personal  standpoint. 
Therefore,  this  is  unjust.  One  must  feel  profoundly  con- 
vinced of  one's  own  infallibility  to  judge  others  in  that 
way.     Yes  ;   each  man  is  possessed  of  love,  benevolence, 

150 


IVAN    LAND  E  151 

delicacy  of  feeling,  integrity  and  self-sacrifice — all  quali- 
ties by  which  alone  the  human  soul  can  be  made  rich. 
Only  the  circumstances  of  human  beings  are  unequal, 
and  therefore  these  good  qualities  cannot  develop  in  the 
right  direction.  Yet  no  man  could  find  pleasure,  merely  for 
its  own  sake,  in  being  wicked,  envious,  cruel  or  covetous." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  take  pleasure  sometimes  in  being  cruel," 
replied  Maria  Nicolaievna  jjensively. 

"  Ah,"  said  Lande,  "  but  a  certain  pain  really  under- 
lies such  pleasure  1  The  most  inveterate  criminal 
cannot  take  a  sheer,  calm  delight  in  cruelty  unless 
he  is  insane,  and  thus  no  longer  a  man  really. 
Every  man  must  always  love  something,  pity  some- 
thing, sacrifice  himself  for  something.  He  will  always 
create  a  god  for  himself,  because  God  dwells  within 
his  soul.  And  it  is  not  his  fault  if  life  does  not  lead 
his  natural  feeling  into  the  right  way.  That  depends 
solely  on  external  circumstances,  on  the  direction  that 
his  Ufa  happens  to  take.  For  instance,  Molotchaief, 
He's  passionately  fond  of  his  art  and  of  the  beautiful. 
I  feel  certain  that  he  would  be  ready  to  make  any  sacrifice 
for  it.  Consequently,  latent  within  him,  lies  the  capacity, 
the  great  capacity  of  loving.  By  accident,  or  by  some 
other  impulse,  his  vast  love  assumes  another  form,  finds 
another  outlet,  and  this  famous  artist,  who  to  our  think- 
ing has  his  limitations,  becomes  a  man  of  noble  deeds, 
a  philanthropist — capable  of  all !  " 

"  Then  you  beheve  in  mankind  ?  "  asked  Maria 
Nicolaievna  gently. 

"  Yes,  that  I  do,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

"  What  makes  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  My  behef  in  God,"  replied  Lande.  "  I  beheve  that 
the  divine  spirit  which  God  flung  into  chaos  meaning  to 
create  man  in  His  image,  dwells  within  the  soul  of 
man,  that  so  God's  will  may  be  done,  and  that  His  great 
sohtude  may  thus  be  lessened.  I  cannot  express  it, 
yet  I  believe  in  man  as  the  precursor  of  futurity,  of  this 
I  am  certain." 

Here  Lande  paused.  He  smiled  nervously,  and  his 
shining  eyes  and  restless    fingers    bore    witness    to  his 


152  IVANLANDE 

intense  emotion  which  had  also  influenced  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Yes,  but  death  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  tone  of  va^ue 
alarm.     "  Are  you  afraid  of  death  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  !  " 

But  her  voice  sounded  so  strangely  solemn  that  Maria 
Nicolaievna  was  forced  to  laugh  at  it.  Just  then  they 
were  slowly  nearing  a  dense  plantation  of  young  pine- 
trees  and  the  echo  of  Maria's  laughter  came  back  from 
their  dark  depths. 

"  No,  no,  you  are  not  afraid  I  "  Lande  laughed  gaily 
also.  "  It's  not  possible,  either,  to  be  afraid  of  death 
itself.  Nothing  in  the  world  fears  death  except  man, 
and  it  is  not  death  that  he  fears,  but  the  uncertainty  of 
a  hereafter.  For  myself  I  don't  believe  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  death." 

They  approached  the  glimmering  pine  wood,  fragrant 
in  the  dusk  with  the  scent  of  the  first  green  pines.  Here 
amid  their  stems  it  was  quite  dark  and  their  branches 
gently  swayed  about  the  grassy  edge  of  the  road.  A  bird 
flew  noiselessly  from  bough  to  bough,  and  a  twig  broke 
as  the  wind  swept  past. 

"  Then  5^ou  believe  in  a  life  after  death  ?  "  asked  Maria 
Nicolaievna  with  childlike,  irrelevant  curiosity. 

"  This  much  I  feel,"  rephed  Lande  calmly,  "  that  I 
cannot  be  utterly  destroyed.  Yet  what  will  happen  I 
know  not.  Man's  thoughts  and  conceptions  are  limited  ; 
we  cannot  form  any  idea  of  eternal  life  because  it  lies 
outside  and  beyond  our  ken.    One  can  but  conjecture  it." 

"  Ah !  but  if  it  exists  then  it's  strange  that  we  can't " 

"  No,  not  strange  at  all.  Why  should  it  be  strange 
that  you  cannot  explain  a  great  mystery  when  we  cannot 
explain  our  own  personal  feelings  and  emotions  ?  Love, 
for  instance.  Love  certainly  doesn't  seem  strange  to  you, 
does  it  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Love  !  Well  .  .  .  love  ..."  and  she  slowly 
repeated  the  word  to  herself, 

"  The  Eternal  and  the  Infinite,  those  are  the  greatest 
attributes  of  the  Divine  Spirit,"  said  Lande.  Man  is  as 
yet  so  far  from  comprehending  these  last " 


IVAN    LAND  E  153 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Maria  Nicolaicvna.  "  What's  that  ?  " 
She  stood  still  in  alarm. 

Two  men  emerged  from  a  hedge  and  advanced  towards 
them  silently  in  the  dusk.  They  came  along  in  a  leism-ely 
way,  swinging  their  arms,  but  the  effect  of  their  approach 
was  vaguely  disquieting  as  some  secret  threat.  Lande 
calmly  looked  up. 

"  Tkatchof  !  "  he  cried  in  surprise. 

When  only  a  few  paces  distant  the  two  men  stopped 
and  looked  about  them  on  all  sides.  Their  forbidding 
aspect  in  the  quiet  dusk  alarmed  Maria  Nicolaievna. 

"  Let's  run  away  !  "  she  whispered  to  Lande,  who,  as 
if  he  did  not  recognize  her  voice,  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

Grimy,  and  wearing  a  ragged  jacket,  Tkatchof  stood 
still  while  his  comiianion  quickly  approached  Maria. 
The  sight  of  his  bare  feet  with  toes  outspread  between 
which  pine  needles  and  tender  blades  of  grass  emerged, 
remained  for  ever  fixed  in  her  memory. 

"  You're  good  for  the  price  of  a  drink,  eh  ?  "  said  the 
fellow  insolent!}'',  as  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  clutched  Lande's  arm,  leaning  closer 
to  him  for  protection.     Tkatchof  did  not  stir. 

"  Now  then,  be  quick !  "  persisted  the  man,  in  a 
threatening  tone. 

Lande  awkwardly  drew  out  his  purse. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said,  looking  gravely  at  the  tramp. 

Tkatchof  stood  aloof,  sneering. 

"Here!  this  ain't  much,"  said  the  other,  pocketing 
the  purse.  "  Let's  have  that  coat  of  yours.  Look  sharp. 
You'd  better  go  on,  lady.  Not  quite  proper,  eh  ?  "  he 
added  mockingly. 

Terror-struck  and  trembling,  Maria  Nicolaievna  turned 
aside. 

Lande  smiled  sadly  and  took  off  his  coat.  In  his  old 
shirt  with  its  badly  ironed  pleats  he  looked  even  thinner 
and  more  frail. 

"  Those  trousers  are  far  too  good  for  you,"  said  the 
tramp,  as  he  looked  about  him  uneasily,  and  shook  the 
coat  in  Lande's  face.     "  Off  with  them,  too." 

"Do  you  want  them  ?  "    asked  Lande  calmly,  as  he 


154  IVANLANDE 

sat  down  on  the  grass.     "  You  go  on,  Maria  Nicolaievna, 
God  be  with  you." 

Terrified  as  she  was,  Maria  suddenly  felt  a  mad  desire 
to  laugh  out  aloud.  Lande,  half-undressed,  sat  calmly 
there  as  the  tramp  tugged  at  the  leg  of  his  trousers,  and 
Tkatchof,  still  motionless,  watched  the  proceedings. 
"  You  go  on,  Maria,"  repeated  Lande. 
"  Wait  a  bit,  lady,  What  have  you  got  there  ?  "  cried 
the  footpad  hurriedly  as  he  made  a  grab  at  her  dangling 
watch-chain. 

To  Maria  there  was  something  intensely  horrible  and 
revolting  in  this  act.  Darting  aside,  she  caught  up  her 
dress  and  rushed  along  the  road.  It  was  as  if  some 
large  blossom  had  been  suddenly  tossed  forward  by  the 
breeze. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "   cried  the  tramp  as  he  flung 
Lande's  jacket  aside,  and  promptly  gave  chase.     Maria 
uttered  a  piercing  scream  which  rang  through  the  darkling 
pine   wood.     This   cry   Molotchaief    heard    as    he    came 
round  a  bend  of  the  road.     Swift  as  a  flash  he  dropped  his 
paint-box  and  easel  and  ran  forward.     The  tramp  saw 
him  first,  and  cunningly  swerved  aside,  glared  at  him  for 
an  instant,   and  then  cowering  in  the  grass,   got  away 
through  the  brushwood.     Maria  Nicolaievna  ran  precipi- 
tately  against   the   trunk   of  a   tree.     Wild-eyed,    with 
tumbled  hair,  for  a  moment  she  seemed  utterly  dazed. 
Never  noticing  Lande,  pale  and  feeble,  on  the  grass  at 
the   side   of  the   road,   Molotchaief  rushed   past   Maria, 
panting,  and  flung  himself  upon  Tkatchof.     The  latter 
had  seen  him  coming.     At  one  moment  it  looked  as  if  he, 
too,  would  make  a  bolt  for  it,  but  he  stubbornly  stood  his 
ground.     Before  he  could  move  Molotchaief  struck  him  a 
terrific  blow  full  in  the  face.     Tkatchof  uttered  a  low 
groan  and  threw  up  his  hands  as   he  fell  forward  in  a 
kneeling  posture.     A  second  blow  struck  the  top  of  his 
head,  knocking  him  right  down  in  the  road,  where  he  lay 
sprawling. 

I-"  Molotchaief  !  Molotchaief  !  "  cried  Lande  as,  clad 
merely  in  his  shirt,  he  rushed  forward  and  seized  the 
other's   hand.     "  Leave   him    alone  !  "     Then,    kneeling 


IVAN    LAND  E  155 

down,  he  endeavoured  to  raise  Tkatchof  whose  head  on 
its  long,  thin  neck  drooped  helplessly. 

"  You've  killed  him  !  "  stammered  Lande,  horrified. 

"  What  if  I  have  ?  It's  no  more  than  he  deserved," 
was  Molotchaief's  rough  rejoinder. 

Yet  suddenly  Tkatehof  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Blood 
was  streaming  from  his  forehead  which  was  covered  with 
mould,  while  his  nose  and  the  left  side  of  his  face  had  a 
dull  red  look  shocking  to  behold. 

"  Recovering,  is  he  ?  He'll  mind  what  he's  about 
another  time  !  "  Molotchaief's  clenched  fists  still  trembled 
as  if  he  longed  to  hit  the  fellow  again. 

Lande  paid  no  heed,  but,  taking  a  handkerchief  from 
the  pocket  of  his  trousers  that  were  lying  on  the  grass, 
he  offered  it  to  Tkatchof. 

"  Here  !  Wipe  off  the  blood  !  Oh  !  my  God,  what  is 
to  be  done  ?  "  he  exclaimed  incoherently,  in  utter  distress 
and  amazement. 

But  Tkatchof  neither  moved  nor  took  the  handkerchief. 
His  left  eye  had  already  become  swollen,  and  from  his 
bruised  lips  and  chin  blood  dripped  on  to  his  greasy  coat- 
cuff. 

"  Don't  you  bother  about  him  !  The  best  thing  I  can 
do  is  to  take  him  back  to  where  he  belongs.  Here  ! 
Come  along  with  me,  and  be  quick  about  it  !  "  So  saying 
Molotchaief  roughly  collared  Tkatchof  as  he  gave  him  a 
kick  so  that  he  slipped  forward  and  fell. 

"  Don't  !  Leave  him  alone  1  "  cried  Lande,  angrily 
interposing. 

Molotchaief  looked  at  him  in  fury  and  astonishment. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  playing  the  fool  for  ?  "  he 
cried.  But  as  he  caught  sight  of  Lande  in  his  shirt  he 
paused  for  a  moment  and  then  burst  out  laughing. 
Maria  Nicolaievna,  unaware  until  now  of  their  approach, 
glanced  in  amazement  at  Molotchaief,  and  then  at  Lande. 
Blushing  deeply,  she  instantly  looked  away  and  walked  on. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  fools  I  ever  "...  exclaimed  Molot- 
chaief as  he  laughed  aloud. 

Then  Tkatchof 's  black,  gory  features  became  distorted 
by  a  grin  as  he,  too,  laughed  sardonically,  and  at   the 


156  IVAN    LAND  E 

same  time  spat  blood.  Broken  and  disfigured  as  he  was, 
such  laughter  seemed  revolting.  Lande  looked  up  at 
them  with  the  same  calm,  sad  smile. 

"  For  God's  sake,  go  and  dress  yourself !  "  cried 
Molotchaief,  as  he  went  on  to  join  Maria.  Lande  did 
not  heed  him.  Tkatchof  was  not  laughing  now,  but 
turned  and  walked  away.     Lande  called  to  him. 

"Tkatchof,"  he  said,  as  he  touched  his  arm,  "you 
meant  to  do  that.  I  saw  it  in  your  eyes.  Oh  !  why, 
Tkatchof,  why  ?  " 

Tkatchof  scowled  at  him  as  if  he  had  not  understood 
but  were  thinking  of  something  quite  different. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  real  man  ?  "  he  asked  huskily. 
"  There  !  Look  at  him  !  "  and  he  pointed  to  Molotchaief. 
"  That's  a  strong  chap  if  you  like  !  But  you  ?  Why, 
you're  just  a  lump  of  dirt !      Not  worth  a  damn  !  " 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Lande,  "  yet  why  is  it  that  you 
hate  me  so  ?  Is  it  really  because  I  am  so  much  inferior 
to  him  ?  " 

"  It's  because  I  believed  in  you  for  so  many  years," 
replied  Tkatchof.  "  And  now,  this  is  the  result  !  "  So 
saying,  he  struck  his  bruised  check.  "  I  see  now  what  a 
fool  I  was  to  believe  all  that  silly  humbug.  But  my  life  ? 
What  about  that  ?  Done  for  !  And,  instead  of  a  man, 
I'm  just — .  Well,  now  you  understand  what  I  mean, 
eh  ?  As  for  him,  I'll  pay  him  out  yet  !  "  He  shook  his 
black  fist  vindictivel}^  "  He  shall  remember  me 
though  I  swing  for  it.  Wait  a  bit."  Turning  swiftly  on 
his  heel  he  Vv^alked  away,  and  Lande  thought  he  could 
hear  him  muttering  to  himself.  However,  he  did  not 
look  round,  and  soon  disappeared  in  the  dusk.  Lande 
gazed  despairingly  at  his  retreating  figure,  and  then  having 
put  on  his  clothes,  he  hastened  to  rejoin  Maria  and  her 
companion. 

"He's  in  a  desperate  mood  now,  but  when  he  gets 
calmer  I'll  go  and  see  him,"  such  was  his  vague  consolation. 

"  This  is  where  I  heard  you  scream,"  the  artist  was 
eagerly  explaining  to  Maria,  as  he  proceeded  to  pick  up 
his  paint-box  and  easel  that  were  lying  in  the  road.  "  I 
had  seen  you  already,  and  wanted  to  catch  you  up,  but 


IVANLANDE  157 

I  lost  my  palette  knife,  and  it  took  me  a  long  while  to  find 
it.     However,  thank  goodness  I  still  got  here  in  time  !  " 

As  Lande  came  up  behind,  Maria  hardly  looked  round. 
He  smiled  kindly  at  her,  but  she  instantly  turned  away, 
finding  it  difficult  to  repress  another  fit  of  nervous  laughter. 
At  that  actual  moment  Lande  appeared  to  her  simply 
contemptible  and  absurd.  Molotchaief  scornfully  sur- 
veyed him  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Ah  1  Here  comes  the 
hero  !  " 

"  I  am  not  a  hero  !  "  replied  Lande  with  a  touch  of 
indignation  unusual  for  him. 

"  That's  pretty  clear,"  laughed  the  other  mockingly. 
As  they  walked  home  together  Molotchaief  continued  to 
jeer  at  Lande  while  he  boasted  of  his  own  tremendous 
muscular  strength.  Lande  only  smiled  mournfullj'-,  while 
Maria  Nicolaievna  glanced  sideways  at  Molotchaief  with 
singular  physical  curiosity,  as  her  pink  nostrils,  sensitive 
as  those  of  a  thoroughbred,  expanded  and  quivered. 
Interesting  as  he  was  to  her,  she  yet  felt  for  him  a  certain 
repulsion. 


IX 

It  was  still  dark,  and  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen  as  Lande 
neared  home.  His  thoughts,  strangely  cold  and  keen, 
were  continually  of  Tkatchof. 

"  When  he  laughed  at  me  it  was  more  painful  to  him 
than  to  me.  I  saw  that.  That's  a  dreadful  thing,  but 
who  is  to  blame  ?  I  or  he  ?  I  don't  know.  One  must 
fight,  yes ;  but  how  can  one  fight  in  the  dark  ?  " 

Lande  walked  on  in  the  quiet  dusk,  gazing  at  the 
ground,  although  his  eyes  saw  nothing. 

"Ahl  Daddy!"  cried  a  child's  voice  despairingly; 
and  then  the  dark  deserted  street  rang  with  wild  screams. 

"  Daddy  1  Daddy  1  I  won't  do  it  again  1  "  was  the 
child's  helpless  cry,  as  if  it  were  trying  to  defend  itself. 

"  You  won't,  won't  you  ?  You  won't,  won't  you  ?  " 
growled  a  rasping  bass  voice  repeatedly,  and  between 
each  repetition  of  these  words  it  was  as  though  something 
dreadful  were  being  done. 

Some  one  was  standing  beneath  a  window  to  listen. 
Dim  in  the  dusk,  Lande  recognized  the  figure  of  a  girl 
with  pale  features  and  large  shining  eyes.  It  was 
Semenof's  sister. 

"  Is  that  you,  Sonia  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  grasped  her  thin 
little  hand. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Listen  1  He's  beating  him  to  death  I  "  she  replied  in 
a  girlish  voice,  as  she  gazed  up  at  the  window,  craning  her 
neck  in  a  wild,  eager  movement  of  curiosity. 

Roused  from  his  reverie,  Lande  instantly  understood 
all,  as,  uttering  a  groan,  he  dashed  through  the  little 
yard,  knocking  his  knee  in  the  darkness  against  a  post. 
Running  upstairs,  in  a  trice  he  reached  the  door  of  the 
room,  which  he  flung  open.  A  large  lamp  was  burning 
there,  which  shed  a  golden  glow  upon  numerous  sacred 
pictures  hung  up  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  In  the 
middle  of  it,  facing  the  door,  stood  Firsof,  coatless.  The 
little  metal  buttons  of  his   waistcoat  shone.     Bending 

158 


IVANLANDE  159 

forward  in  a  strange,  almost  a  libidinous  attitude,  he  was 
beating  with  a  leather  strap  a  small  red  rump  wedged 
tightly  between  his  bony  knees. 

"  You  won't  do  it  again,  eh  ?  "  he  kept  repeating,  as 
he  viciously  belaboured  the  tender  pink  flesh.  Infuriated 
at  the  sight,  and  half  dazed,  Lande  gave  Firsof  a  violent 
push,  so  that  he  nearly  fell,  and,  to  save  himself,  clutched 
at  the  table,  thus  releasing  the  child  and  dropping  the 
strap.  Something  rattled  and  was  broken  to  pieces  on 
the  floor.  Lande  put  his  arms  round  the  child  that  was 
sobbing  violently,  and  turned  to  Firsof  with  wide,  angry 
eyes.     "  Stop  it,  Firsof  1  "  he  cried  vehemently. 

For  a  moment  Firsof  stared  at  him,  not  recognizing 
him,  and  then  turned  very  red  as  the  wicked  light  in  his 
eyes  went  out.  Clutching  his  head  convulsively,  he 
murmured  : 

"  Ah  !  It's  you,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch  I  Excuse  me 
er  T  " 

"  Again,  Firsof,  again  ?  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  your- 
self ?  Doesn't  the  sinfulness  of  it  shock  you  ?  "  said 
Lande  as  he  pushed  the  child  towards  Sonia,  who  stood 
silent  in  the  doorway. 

Firsof's  long  yellow  face  turned  a  fiery  red.  "  Excuse 
me,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  you  do 
not  know  ...  I  had  good  reason  for " 

"  Reason  ?  What  reason  could  there  be  ?  "  was  Lande's 
indignant  rejoinder.  "  Nothing  could  possibly  justify 
such  monstrous  cruelty." 

Firsof,  advancing,  raised  his  trembling,  bony  hand. 
"  Yes,  there  could  1  "  he  cried,  as  he  displayed  the  yellow 
stumps  of  his  decayed  teeth  and  glared  at  Lande.  "  Do 
you  know  what  this  little  beast  has  been  doing  ?  Do  you 
know,  I  say  ?  "  he  shouted  exultantly. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I'll  show  you,  and  you  can  admire  it  for  yourself !  " 
said  Firsof,  as  with  his  lean  finger  he  pointed  at  the  sacred 
pictures. 

Lande  failed  to  notice  anything  at  first  except  a  paint- 
box, a  brush,  and  a  glass  of  greenish,  turbid  water. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated. 


160  IVANLANDE 

"  Look  here."  Firsof  caught  hold  of  Lande's  arm  and 
dragged  him  towards  the  sacred  pictures. 

Two  of  the  scenes  from  Holy  Writ  had  been  foolishly 
daubed  with  paint  after  the  manner  of  a  child.  The  faces 
of  the  women  had  been  embellished  with  beards  and 
moustaches. 

"  Oh  !     I  see  1  "  was  Lande's  placid  comment. 

The  boy  still  sobbed. 

"  Don't  cry  I  We  won't  let  him  do  it  any  more,"  said 
Sonia  mechanically,  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  Lande. 

"  But  he's  only  a  little  child,  Firsof,"  said  Lande  as 
he  took  the  boy's  hand  and  sought  to  soothe  him. 

"  I  know  that  I  "  snorted  Firsof.  "  If  he  hadn't  been 
a  child,  I  daresay  I  should  have  thrashed  him  to  death." 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  that  ?  "  Lande  made  a 
gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  I'd  have  thrashed  him  to  death  !  " 
shouted  Firsof  stubbornly,  as  he  rapped  the  table  with  his 
knuckles. 

"  Come,  come,  Firsof,"  expostulated  Lande,  taking  the 
other's  hand.  "  Don't  talk  hke  that !  Such  a  trifling 
matter,  too  I  " 

At  this  Firsof  fired  up,  apparently  expecting  such  a 
remark. 

"  A  trifling  matter,  indeed  I  "  he  drawled. 

"  Yes.  How  can  one  possibly  say  it's  a  serious  one  ? 
Don't  you  realize  that  your  offence  is  far  greater  than  your 
poor  boy's  ?  " 

"  Aba  !  So  you  think  it's  a  trifling  matter,  do  you  ?  " 
repeated  Firsof.  Then  he  suddenly  shrieked  in  the 
previous  tone  of  sham  fury  : 

"  A  trifling  matter,  is  it  ?  "  And  he  stamped  his  foot. 
"  Get  out  with  you  !  Get  out,  you  blasphemous  little 
devil  1     Get  out  1  "  he  yelled. 

"  Firsof  1  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  exclaimed 
Lande  aghast. 

"  Get  out  1  "  roared  Firsof,  purposely  deaf  to  all  remon- 
strance. Foaming  at  the  mouth,  and  stamping  his  feet, 
he  worked  himself  up  into  a  state  of  absolute  frenzy. 

For  the  second  time  in  his  life  it  seemed  to  Lande  that 


IVANLANDE  161 

it  is  not  man  himself  that  screams  thus,  but  some  cunning 
demon  within  him.  Filled  though  he  was  with  disgust, 
he  would  not  let  this  influence  him,  but  resolved  to 
withdraw. 

"  I  am  going,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  You're  not  your- 
self to-day.  I'll  come  and  see  you  to-morrow.  But  I 
had  better  take  Seriosha  with  me,  or  else  you  might " 

Choking  with  rage,  Firsof  glared  at  him,  but  said 
nothing.     Lande  turned  to  Sonia. 

"  We'll  take  him  home  with  us,  Sonia,"  he  said. 

Sonia  glanced  swiftly  at  him  and  nodded  assent.  Then 
with  an  effort  she  Ufted  the  sturdy  little  boy  and  went  to 
the  door. 

"  We're  going,  Firsof,"  said  Lande  again,  "  and  we'll 
take  Seriosha  with  us." 

"  Good  luck  go  with  you  !  "  cried  Firsof,  as  he  stood 
there  rooted  to  the  spot,  staring  at  the  sacred  pictures. 

"  We're  only  taking  charge  of  him  because  you're  so 
upset,"  added  Lande  kindly. 

i:-,/'  All  right !  All  right  !  "  replied  Firsof,  as  he  nodded 
his  head.  "  Mind  you  bring  him  back,  and  then  we 
shall  see  what  happens." 

,:For  an  instant  Lande's  sad  eyes  were  turned  to  the 
speaker,  who,  however,  would  not  meet  their  steadfast 
gaze,  but  who  looked  away,  at  the  sacred  pictures,  the 
walls  and  the  floor. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  exclaimed 
Lande  sharply.  "  You've  never  behaved  to  me  like  this 
before." 

"  Perhaps  not !  Perhaps  not  I  "  muttered  Firsof.  "  I 
daresay  you  think  you're  always  in  the  right.  But  I 
wouldn't  advise  you  to  be  so  cocksure.  There  are  others 
as  good  as  you,  though  they  mayn't  shove  themselves 
forward  quite  so  much.  Yes,  that  there  are ;  and — as 
for  that  httle  brute,  you'U  see  if  I  don't " 

"  But  he's  your  son  !  "  cried  Lande,  and  he  struck  his 
breast  with  his  fist. 

"  It's  no  business  of  yours  to  teach  me  my  duty  towards 
my  son.  Do  you  hear  ?  It's  not  for  you  to  say  what's 
right,  nor  for  me,  either.     God  knows  best  as  to  that.     My 

L 


162  IVANLANDE 

son,  indeed  !  I  know  all  about  my  son.  My  son  doesn't 
come  before  my  God  ! "  he  cried.  "  Here !  Look, 
look  !  "  And  he  began  to  finger  the  pictures  nervously, 
as  he  dropped  something  on  the  floor,  muttering  inco- 
herently. 

Lande  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and  then,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  walked  to  the  door. 

"  I  had  better  go  now,"  he  said.  "  My  presence  only 
irritates  you." 

Sonia  stood  waiting  on  the  stairs,  with  the  boy  in  her 
arms. 

"  Let  us  go.  It's  impossible  to  speak  to  the  father. 
He's  nearly  mad  !  "  He  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and 
pressed  its  little  soft  cheek  against  his  own.  Sonia  fol- 
lowed, gazing  with  a  certain  strange  rapture  at  Lande's 
neck  as  mechanically  she  wiped  her  hand  still  wet  with 
the  child's  tears. 


On  the  following  day  Firsof,  in  frock-coat  and  high  collar, 
looking  dry  and  straight  as  a  stick,  entered  Semenof's 
room.  Lande  sat  near  the  windoAV,  busily  engaged  in 
some  copying  work  which  Semcnof  had  got  for  him.  The 
latter  lay  in  bed,  smoking. 

"  Ah  !  Firsof !  "  cried  Lande,  jumping  up  to  greet 
him,  and  making  a  blot  on  the  neatly  written  page  as  he 
did  so.  Semenof  noticed  the  blot  at  a  distance,  but  said 
nothing. 

Firsof  looked  coldly  at  Lande  and  did  not  offer  to  shake 
hands. 

"  I  have  come  to  fetch  my  son,"  he  said,  in  a  dry,  official 
tone. 

"  Seriosha's  been  in  the  garden  a  long  while.  .  .  ." 

"  Sonia  took  him  out  for  a  walk,"  added  Semenof 
unconcernedly. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Firsof,  bowing  to  Semenof  in  the 
same  formal  manner.  m 

Then  he  turned  to  go.  ' 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  asked  Lande  sadly. 

"  Nothing."  Firsof  shrugged  his  shoulders,  vastly 
pleased  with  himself. 

"  Don't  go  on  like  this,"  remonstrated  Lande. 

"  It's  such  an  idiotic  pose  !  "  said  Semenof  angrily. 

Firsof  swung  round  sharply,  and  his  wooden  figure 
became  suddenly  pliant. 

"  I  don't  know  who  is  the  idiot  !  "  he  retorted  sharply. 
"  But,  under  the  circumstances,  I  should  like  to  explain 
myself." 

So  saying,  he  placed  his  hat  and  stick  on  a  chair  and 
sat  down  brusquely  beside  them. 

"  Somewhat  necessary,  I  should  say,"  snorted  Semenof. 
"  Jackass  I  " 

*'  Hush,  Vassia  !  "  said  Lande. 

Firsof  pretended  not  to  have  heard,  and  turned  to 
Lande. 

163 


164  IVANLANDE 

"  I  find  myself  obliged  to  go  back  some  little  way,"  he 
began  pompously,  pleased  at  the  opportunity  of  deUver- 
ing  the  speech  that  had  evidently  been  prepared. 

"  You,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch,  at  one  time  had  con- 
siderable influence  over  me.  That  I  must  admit.  In 
fact,  I  do  honestly  admit  it.  I  might  even  go  so  far  as  to 
say  that  we  were  friends." 

A  dull  red  hue  overspread  his  flabby  cheeks,  and  for  a 
moment  he  appeared  to  halt  in  his  speech,  as  if  afraid 
that  Lande  might  contradict  him. 

"  I  always  liked  you,  Firsof,"  said  the  latter.. 

A  subtle,  self-complacent  smile  crossed  Firsof's  face, 
but  his  tone  at  once  became  insolent  and  overbearing. 

"  My  first  superficial  impression  of  you  and  your  actions 
was  what  allured  me,  and,  being  young  at  the  time,  I 
could  not  see  their  real  meaning." 

"  I  don't  think  I  knew  you  before  you  were  grown  up," 
replied  Lande  simply. 

"  Well,  well,  be  that  as  it  may,"  and  again  Firsof's  face 
turned  a  muddy  red.  "  Of  course,  I  .  .  .  er  .  .  . 
meant  to  say  that  when  you,  as  a  youth,  went  about 
visiting  the  sick  and  the  poor,  sharing  everything  with 
them  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  I  thought  that  I  had  met  with 
a  real,  true  Christian.  Your  speeches  strengthened  my 
belief,  also.  I  felt  great  sympathy  for  you  ;  that  I  must 
admit.  It  was  your  eloquence  that  made  you  the  centre 
of  so  much  youthful  enthusiasm  ;  in  fact,  by  many  you 
were  idoUzed.  Even  I,  a  man — I  may  say  this  without 
boasting — a  man  of  principle  and  sound  integrity,  for  a 
long  while  could  not  grasp  the  real  significance  of  your 
words  and  conduct." 

"  And  what,  according  to  you,  was  their  real  sig- 
nificance ?  "  asked  Lande  eagerly. 

"  Surely    you    yourself   know    that  ?  "    Firsof's    face 
assumed  a  sly  expression. 
"  No,  I  don't !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  must  know,  it  was  this.  As  you  never 
attended  masf3,  nor  took  any  part  whatever  in  the  services 
of  the  Church,  your  object  was  to  point  out,  indeed  to 
emphasize  the  fact,  that  the  real  Christian  religion  lay 


IVANLANDE  165 

outside  the  pale  of  the  Church.  Yes,  that's  what  your 
object  was  !  And  you  managed  to  lead  astray  many 
who  gave  up  going  to  church,  and,  in  fact,  began  to 
criticize  its  doctrines  !  " 

"  Many,  yes  ;  but  not  myself.  Of  course  you  didn't 
like  it,  but  I  wasn't  one  of  your  silly  student-admirers, 
and  you  couldn't  hoodwink  me.  More  likely  is  it  that  I 
may  be  able  to  lead  you  back  to  the  right  path  !  " 

"  My  God  !  "  sighed  Lande,  "  what  are  you  talking 
about  ?  " 

Scmenof  tossed  restlessly  in  his  bed,  hardly  able  to 
contain  himself. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  repeated  Firsof  consequentially.  "  You 
couldn't  hoodwink  me." 

"  And  still  I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at  !  " 
exclaimed  Lande,  in  bewilderment. 

"Then  I'll  tell  you,"  shouted  Firsof.  His  grey 
whiskers  bristled  ferociously.  He  was  evidently  in  a 
fix,  and  the  fact  wounded  his  vanity.  "  Allow  me  to 
ask  you  this  plain  question :  '  Are  you  a  Chi'istian,  or  are 
you  not  ?  '  " 

Semenof  snorted. 

"  I  really  don't  know.  Hadn't  we  better  discuss  this 
some  other  time,  eh  ?  "  was  Lande's  gentle  effort  to  turn 
the  conversation,  as  he  felt  sorry  for  Firsof. 

But  the  latter  insisted, 

"  Do  you  believe  in  the  holy  Orthodox  Church  ?  " 

"  What  a  question  to  ask  me,  Firsof  ?  Why  ?  If  you 
particularly  want  to  know,  I  don't  believe  in  the  Church 
at  all,  and " 

"  I  thought  as  much  !  "  interrupted  Firsof,  rubbing 
his  hands  in  glee.  "This  speech,  coupled  with  many 
others,  and  notably  with  your  having  disowned  your 
mother " 

"  That's  not  true  !  I  have  never  disowned  my  mother. 
I  merely  decided  to  live  apart  from  her. 

"  What's  the  use  of  wasting  words  on  that  fool  ?  " 
exclaimed  Semenof  suddenly,  as  he  sat  up  in  bed,  livid 
with  rage.  "  Why  do  you  let  every  lout  interfere  like 
this?" 


166  IVANLANDE 

"  I  quite  understand,"  hissed  Firsof  between  his  teeth, 
as  he  took  up  his  cap  to  go.  "1  have  no  further  questions 
to  ask,  although  there  are  one  or  two  things  which  I 
should  hke  to  have  said  with  a  view  to  their  being  of 
benefit  to  you.  However — no  matter  !  I  now  know 
what  I  have  to  do  and  you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  act 
in  accordance  with  my  duty  and  my  conscience,  I  can 
safely  say  that ! 

Firsof  got  up  triumphant. 

"  Oh  you  old  dung-bag  !  "  cried  Semenof  furiously. 
He  strove  to  rise,  but  shaken  by  a  terrible  paroxysm  of 
coughing,  fell  back,  with  his  face  on  the  pillows.  One 
gaunt  foot  which  protruded  from  the  coverlet  trembled 
convulsively. 

With  malicious  satisfaction  Firsof  watched  him, 

"  Aha  !  "  he  muttered  superciliously  between  his  gleam- 
ing teeth.     Then,  turning  to  Lande : 

"  I  have  only  this  much  to  tell  you  :  what  you  do  is, 
all  of  it,  mere  hypocrisy  and  falsehood.  You  have  not 
got  the  real  true  faith,  though  you  may  be  able  to  impose 
upon  those  whom  you  consider  your  inferiors  by — in  short, 
you  are  a  servant  of  Antichrist — and " 

"  Go  to  the  devil  I  "  shrieked  Semenof,  mad  with  rage. 
"  Get  out  with  you  !  " 

Firsof  gave  him  a  disdainful  look,  and,  putting  on  his 
cap,  opened  the  door. 

"  A  half-dead  dog  like  that !  "  he  said  venomously. 
"  The  least  he  could  do  would  be  to  hold  his  tongue  when 
God  had  struck  him  down  !  " 

Lande  stood  there,  pale  and  confused,  smiling  feebly. 
Semenof  looked  at  him,  and  then,  as  if  ashamed  of 
his  outburst,  with  trembling  hands  began  to  dress  him- 
self. 

"Why  all  this  hate  and  fury?  Good  God!  What 
have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Simply  don't  take  any  notice,"  was  Semenofs  quiet 
reply. 

But  Lande  did  not  listen  to  him.  His  one  over- 
mastering desire  was  at  once,  without  delay,  to  quench 
the  flame  of  hate  which  all  unwittingly  he  had  lighted, 


IVANLANDE  167 

and  which  burned  his  heart  beyond  endurance.     Without 
a  moment's  reflection  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  cried  Semenof,  who  dis- 
approved of  such  conduct  on  Lande's  part,  as  being 
unnecessary,  and,  in  his  opinion,  humiUating. 

"  I  shall  be  back  directly,"  cried  Lande,  as  he  ran  down 
stairs  to  Firsof's  house. 

"  Firsof !  Open  the  door ! "  he  cried.  "  There's 
some  mistake  !  Open  the  door,  and  I'll  explain  every- 
thing.    Let  me  in  I  " 

Not  a  sound.  Lande  looked  round  mournfully,  and 
bit  his  lip  to  daunt  his  pain.  Just  then,  from  the  garden 
came  Sonia,  slim  and  graceful,  wearing  a  thin  white 
handkerchief  over  her  head  to  protect  her  from  the  sun. 

"  Vania,"  she  said  earnestly  as  she  looked  at  him  with 
her  large,  thoughtful  eyes,  "  you  had  better  go  back. 
You're  only  humiliating  yourself." 

"  Sonetchka,"  he  replied,  "  how  can  I  ?  It's  a\vful ! 
Why  is  he  so  furious  with  me  ?  " 

"He's  a  blackguard,"  replied  Sonia  with  emphasis. 
"  He's  hated  you  for  a  long  while,  because  you  are  better 
than  he  is." 

"  Oh,  what  nonsense,  Sonia  I  "  protested  Lande. 

"  It's  the  truth  !  "  she  persisted,  as  she  plucked  the 
handkerchief  from  her  head. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is.  But,  Sonia,  it's  not  a  question 
of  who  is  the  better.     That's  not  the  important  point." 

On  the  steps  stood  Semenof,  half-dressed,  unkempt,  and 
the  colour  of  saffron. 

"  Lande,"  he  cried,  "  come  back  at  once  !  Do  you 
hear  me  ?     If  not,  I'll  thrash  you,  by  God  I  will !  " 

In  his  voice  love  and  pity  could  plainly  be  heard,  and 
also  a  certain  frank  astonishment. 


XI 

That  evening  a  light  was  burning  in  Firsof  s  little  house. 
By  the  dim  yellow  light  he  sat  bolt  upright  at  the  table 
\vriting  out  a  denunciation  of  Lande  addressed  to  the 
Bishop.  The  noise  of  the  pen  was  like  that  of  a  mouse 
scratching,  and  the  air  was  sultry  and  oppressive,  charged 
with  the  intense  hate  that  filled  Firsof's  soul.  The 
white  moon  shone  through  the  window  and  gave  radiance 
to  the  cool,  azure  night.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  read 
by  moonlight  on  the  boulevard  where  everything  had 
a  pale  blue  lustre  as  of  delicate  enamel.  The  shadows 
of  promenaders  lay  in  sharply  defined  outlines  on  the 
smooth,  shining  earth. 

Quitting  the  crowd,  Lande  and  Semenof,  the  former  in 
his  old  tunic  and  the  latter  in  a  student's  cloak  closely 
buttoned  up,  walked  to  the  cliff,  where  they  sat  down 
on  the  bench. 

"  And  I  tell  you,"  said  Semenof,  waving  his  stick, 
"  that  men  in  their  search  for  so-called  happiness  have 
M^orried  themselves  quite  enough.  It's  high  time  that 
they  stopped." 

"  No,"  replied  Lande,  sadly  but  firmly,  "  that  is 
despair ;  and  despair  is  a  sin  ;  it  shows  that  one  has  let 
one's  courage  sink.  We  do  not  know  what  is  God's 
will,  and  thus  we  cannot  detach  ourselves  from  Him  of 
our  own  accord.  Whatever  happens  we  are  bound  to 
obey  the  will  of  the  Power  that  sent  us  here.  And,  as  I 
think,  we  ought  not  to  give  way  to  bitterness  or  to 
despair.  We  must  strive  to  do,  as  best  we  may,  that 
which  we  cannot  leave  undone.  That  is  what  life  means 
for  us.     That  is  the  best  creed  for  mankind." 

Semenof  waved  his  stick  contemptuously,  and  by  his 
black  shadow  this  gesture  was  repeated. 

"  And  what  is  going  to  show  us  the  best  way  to  do 
such  things  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Our  heart,"  repUed  Lande  with  conviction.  "  Our 
conscience." 

168 


IVANLANDE  169 

*'  Oh,  my  friend,  men's  consciences  are  not  all 
alike  !  " 

"  There  is  no  need  to  think  about  that,  Vassia.  It  is 
only  necessary  for  a  man  to  believe  sincerely  that  what 
he  does  is  right  and  for  the  best." 

"  All  very  fine,  my  dear  fellow,"  replied  Semenof 
chuckling,  "  but  there's  not  much  use  in  that  so  far  as  I 
can  see." 

From  the  dark  background  of  houses  and  trees  that  stood 
out  clearly  in  the  moonhght  they  saw  figures  approaching. 
Shishmariof  and  Molotchaief  came  up  to  them,  with  Maria 
Nicolaievna  and  Sonia,  the  latter  chnging  to  her  com- 
panion with  that  almost  passionate  devotion  which  very 
young  girls  invariably  feel  for  one  that  is  older  than  them- 
selves and  who  has  beauty. 

As  with  some  hesitation  she  shook  hands  with  Lande, 
Maria  Nicolaievna  involuntarily  smiled  as  she  recollected 
his  appearance  on  the  evening  of  their  adventure  with 
Tkatchof.  Turning  away,  she  placed  her  soft  plump  arm 
round  Sonia.  Molotchaief  stood,  tall  and  handsome, 
at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  as  if  riveted  thereto  by  the 
moon's  cold  silvern  light,  and  little  Shishmariof  was  talk- 
ing volubly  to  Lande. 

"  I  say,  Vania,  this  is  really  too  much  !  "  he  said, 
chafing  his  hands  nervously.  "  Are  you  really  quite 
unable  to  distinguish  one  kind  of  man  from  another  ?  " 
This  Firsof  is  an  absolute  swine,  a  canting  humbug  and 
a  spy.  He  belongs  to  the  Real  Russian  League,  and  yet 
you  associate  with  him.  Sonia  tells  me  that  you  almost 
implored  him  to  forgive  you." 

"  He  is  not  such  a  bad  fellow,"  was  Lande's  quiet 
answer. 

"  But  he's  always  up  to  some  blackguardly  trick." 

*'  He  doesn't  really  know  what  he's  doing,"  replied 
Lande,  "  nor  how  much  he  harms  himself  by  it.  One 
ought  to  try  and  explain  this  to  him  and  show  him 
sympathy,  I  think." 

"  What  damned  nonsense  !  "  cried  Semenof,  as  he  spat 
angrily. 

"  Don't  be  cross  with  me,  my  boy,"said  Lande  gently 


170  IVANLANDE 

to  Semenof.     "  I  know  that  I  am  always  upsetting  you, 
but,  really,  I.  .  .  ." 

"  If  you  want  to  know,"  interrupted  Shishmariof 
excitedly,  "sympathy  of  that  sort  is  merely  absurd. 
Love  should  be  given  to  those  who  merit  our  love,  or  at 
least  our  pity,  but  he  who  only  deserves  contempt  ought 
to  be  despised  and  exterminated,  just  as  one  exterminates 
disease-producing  germs  so  as  to  purify  the  air  which  we 
all  breathe.  This  famous  love  of  one's  neighbour,  indis- 
criminate, nonsensical  as  it  is,  has  only  served  to  foster 
a  lot  that  is  harmful  and  that  ought  most  certainly  to 
have  been  destroyed." 

"  There  are  many  people,  whom  we — that  is,  you  and 
I,  consider  harmful.  But  I  don't  believe  that  among 
men  there  can  be  harmful  ones." 

"It's  impossible  for  you  not  to  believe  it,"  rejoined 
Shishmariof  hotly,  as  he  adjusted  the  sleeve  of  his  short 
tunic. 

Sonia  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  she  watched  Lande 
intently. 

"  No,  I  don't  beheve  it,"  said  Lande,  shaking  his  head. 
For  though  there  may  be  wicked  men,  they  are  not 
harmful  men.  If  it  were  not  for  their  badness  the  best 
qualities  of  the  human  spirit,  self-forgetfulness,  forgive- 
ness, self-sacrifice,  and  pure  affection  could  never  be 
revealed  or  evolved.  But  these  qualities  must  be  made 
manifest  as,  without  them,  life  would  mean  merely 
senseless  vegetation." 

"  Thank  you  I  "  exclaimed  Shishmariof.  "  At  that 
rate  one  might  say  that  a  stink  was  useful  because  it 
taught  one  to  appreciate  fresh  air  !  " 

"Yes,  perhaps,"  replied  Lande  smiHng.  "Only  the 
two  things  are  very  different.  So  much  goes  to  make  a 
man.  He  is  too  full  of  beauty  and  strength  for  such  a 
comparison  to  be  possible." 

"  When  shall  you  have  finished  arguing,  gentlemen  ?  " 
interposed  Molotchaief.  It  seems  to  me  that  you'll  go 
on  fighting  like  this  as  long  as  you  live.  I  vote  we  go  for 
a  row  on  the  river.     Let  each  of  us  live  as  he  Ukes  !  " 

"  You  have  uttered  a  profound  truth,"  replied  Semenof, 


IVANLANDE  171 

as  he  waved  his  hand.  "  Yet,  in  accordance  with  this 
wise  remark,  I  shall  not  go  on  the  river,  but  home  to 
bed." 

"  And  I  can't  come,  either,"  said  Shishmariof,  "  as  I've 
got  some  more  reading  to  get  through." 

Lande  smiled. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  without  us,  Maria  Nicolaievna,  for 
I  must  get  back,  too.     I  don't  feel  very  well." 

With  this  they  separated.  As  they  drew  out  into  the 
centre  of  the  stream,  amid  cooler,  more  spacious  sur- 
roundings, they  breathed  with  ease.  Sonia  crouched  at 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  gazed  at  the  moon,  while 
Maria  looked  down  at  the  deep  dark  water. 

"  Oh  !  it  frightens  me  !  "  she  said,  leaning  back. 

Molotchaief  laughed  jovially,  and  began  to  sing.  His 
voice,  like  a  challenge,  went  echoing  across  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  stream, 

"  Here  comes  the  steamer,"  said  Sonia  gently. 
Looking  round,  they  saw  something  black  and  immense 
which  rose  up  close  to  them  out  of  the  darkness.  Smoke, 
as  a  huge  pillar,  suddenly  ascended,  smirching  the  heaven 
and  the  stars.  A  red  light  faced  them  like  an  avid,  fiery 
eye.  They  could  hear  the  surge  and  swirl  of  the  water 
and  the  scream  of  the  whistle  which  rent  the  air,  as  in 
that  very  moment  a  monstrous  shadow  obscured  the 
moon.  Tossed  by  a  large  wave,  through  clouds  of  blind- 
ing smoke,  the  boat  rocked  violently,  and,  then,  as  it 
rebounded,  very  nearly  capsized.  But  the  shadow  fled, 
and  the  moon  swam  upward  in  the  starry  skies,  as,  touched 
by  her  light,  the  eddying  water  glistened  for  very  joy. 

"  Wonderful,  wasn't  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Molotchaief 
fascinated  by  the  sight, 

"  Yes,  wonderful,"  echoed  Maria  Nicolaievna  in  her 
musical  voice,  as  she  clasped  both  hands  to  her  bosom. 
Then,  radiant  with  youth  and  life,  she  added : 

"  My  heart  beat  so  fast !  I  thought  we  should  have 
been  drowned  !  " 

"  I  wasn't  frightened  in  the  least,"  remarked  Sonia 
calmly.  "  It  doesn't  matter  when  we  die,  does  it  ?  I 
wasn't  at  all  afraid." 


172  IVANLANDE 

Molotchaief  stared  at  her  in  comic  amazement.  "  Good 
gracious !  Another  little  Lande !  One's  enough, 
surely  !  " 

As  she  looked  at  him  Maria  Nicolaievna  thought  what 
a  strong,  handsome  fellow  he  was.  She  heaved  a  deep 
sigh  and  then  joined  in  his  laughter. 

"  You  can't  understand  Lande,"  replied  Sonia  com- 
batively. 

"  Perhaps  I  can't,"  was  the  contemptuous  answer. 
"  What  does  that  matter  ?  Instead,  though^  I  can 
understand  what  hfe  and  love  and  beauty  mean.  Life  to 
us  means  youth,  strength,  and  beauty,  doesn't  it,  Maria 
Nicolaievna  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  gently. 

"  Ah  !  "  shouted  Molotchaief.  The  wild,  passionate 
cry  rang  out  across  the  water,  vibrating  with  the  strange 
delicious  joy  of  life. 


XII 

It  was  so  dark  in  the  warm  humid  garden,  that  its  trees 
and  shrubs  could  no  longer  be  discerned,  but  they  formed 
one  sombre  mass  where  glow-worms  flickered  like  mimic 
lanterns  on  the  gloomy  river  of  the  night. 

Molotchaief  and  Maria  Nicolaievna  wandered  along 
the  path,  groping  their  way  as  best  they  could. 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Maria  Nicolaievna,  as  they  at 
last  reached  a  bench.  Here,  too,  on  all  sides  the  little 
white  sparks  were  gleaming.  Stooping  down,  Molotchaief 
took  up  a  glow-worm  from  the  moist  warm  grass,  which 
shed  a  bluish  phosphorescent  light  on  his  broad  strong 
hand.  Maria  Nicolaievna  leant  forward,  and  in  the 
faint  gleam  their  two  heads  touched. 

"  It's  still  shining,"  said  Maria  Nicolaievna  softly,  as 
if  she  feared  to  frighten  the  Httle  luminous  worm.  As 
her  sweet  breath  touched  his  cheek,  Molotchaief,  looking 
up,  caught  a  ghmpse  of  her  delicate  profile.  Close  to 
them  something  fell  gently  on  to  the  grass,  as  a  bough 
rustled  overhead.  They  both  sighed  and  looked  round. 
Molotchaief  carefully  shook  the  glow-worm  off  his  hand, 
and  now  all  was  darkness,  while  even  stronger  became  the 
odour  of  the  warm,  moist  turf. 

Molotchaief  gently  put  his  arm  round  her  soft,  trembhng 
body  and  drew  it  closer  to  his.  As  she  leaned  backwards, 
her  hair  drooped  across  his  shoulder.  By  some  invincible 
might  they  seemed  fused  and  welded.  Yet  suddenly 
Maria  Nicolaievna  slipped  like  a  snake  from  Molotchaief 's 
embrace,  and  laughed  a  silvery  mocking  laugh  as  she 
sprang  aside,  which  woke  the  echoes  in  the  dreaming 
garden.     Molotchaief  rose  to  his  feet  in  amazement, 

"Maria  Nicolaievna  1  What  is  it?  Why  are  you 
laughing  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked,  feigning  curiosity  ;  and  to  hira 
her  voice  sounded  mocking. 

"  What's  the  joke  ?  " 

Again  her  merry  laugh  rang  out. 

178 


174  IVANLANDE 


"  Ah  !  "  he  cried  hoarsely,  as,  lowering  his  head  like  a 
bull,  he  lurched  towards  her.  He  seemed  to  become 
oblivious  of  all  save  the  fact  that  she  by  her  wily  and 
mocking  laughter  was  luring  him  on.  In  the  heat  of  his 
passion  he  felt  that  she  burned  for  him  with  like  ardour, 
and  that  she  was  only  afraid,  as  she  teased  and  defied 
him. 

To  his  instinctive  desire  was  now  added  sensuous  hate  ; 
a  lust  for  brutal  vengeance  at  once  lascivious  and  cruel. 

"  No  !  No  !  No  !  "  cried  the  girl,  as  she  hghtly  struck 
his  hand  with  a  twig,  splashing  it  with  drops  of  dew. 

"  Let's    go    home.     This    evening    you're    too    

dangerous  !  "  she  said,  still  trembhng,  and  yet  enjoying  her 
triumph,  as  she  mockingly  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

And  they  departed.  She  glanced  up  laughingly  at  his 
face  and  mocked  him  for  being  thus  helpless,  while  he, 
awkward,  lustful,  and  brutish,  walked  tamely,  timidly 
beside  her,  restraining  his  fierce  longing  to  crush  her  in 
his  arms,  fling  her  down  on  the  sward  and  by  the  might 
of  his  passion  accomplish  her  destruction. 


XIII 

This  was  the  day  on  which  Semenof  left  for  Yalta  by  the 
afternoon  train.  According  to  the  doctors,  whom  he  did 
not  believe,  though  he  wanted  to  do  so,  it  was  there  that 
his  life  might  be  saved.  All  his  friends  came  to  bid  him 
good-bye.  He  was  feehng  very  ill  indeed.  He  had  lost 
all  joy  in  life.  A  vague,  gnawing  pain  blunted  all  his 
sensations  and  impressions.  It  was  like  a  thick  veil, 
making  everything  dim  and  indistinct.  This  journey 
roused  in  him  no  interest  whatever.  The  physical  part  of 
him  seemed  dead  already,  while  his  spirit  had  sunk  down 
into  the  fathomless  depths  of  his  own  misery.  That  all 
his  friends  had  come  to  bid  him  good-bye  neither  pleased 
nor  vexed  him.  It  did  not  interest  him  in  the  least. 
Only  for  Lande  did  he  feel  concern,  and  this  strange 
solicitude  which  he  showed  towards  him  appeared  to  the 
others  most  remarkable  ;  a  smile,  as  it  were,  on  the  face  of 
a  corpse. 

"  Well,  Lande,  so  you'll  Hve  on  here,  eh  ?  "  he  asked 
huskily.     "  And  what  about  food  ?  " 

"  I  shall  get  some,  somehow,"  said  Lande  smiUng, 
"  Behold  the  birds  of  the  air  ;  they  sow  not " 

"  Silly  fool  1  "  cried  Semenof  irritably.  "  You're  not 
a  bird.  If  nobody  feeds  you,  you'll  die  of  hunger." 
"  It's  really  too  absurd  I  If  I  were  God  Almighty,  do 
you  know  what  I'd  do  with  you  ?  Shove  you  in  a  mad- 
house I  " 

Lande  laughed  merrily. 

"  My  dear  Vassia,  you're  the  best  fellow  that  I  have 
ever  met." 

"  And  you're  the  biggest  fool ! "  rephed  Semenof, 
waving  his  hand  petulantly.     After  a  pause,  he  added  : 

"  Shishmariof  promised  to  get  you  some  teaching." 

"  Ah  I    That'll  be  very  nice,"  said  Lande. 

Just  then  Shishmariof  and  Molotchaief  came  in  together, 

"  So  you're  off  ?  "  asked  the  latter  carelessly. 

"  Of  course  1  "  was  Semenof's  snappish  reply. 

175 


176  IVAN    LAND  E 

"  I've  already  got  one  pupil  for  Lande,"  said  Shish- 
mariof. 

"  There,  you  see  !  "  said  Semenof  to  Lande. 

"  It's  time  to  start,"  added  Shishmariof,  as  he  looked 
at  his  watch. 

While  Semenof  went  out  of  the  room  for  a  moment 
Molotchaief  asked  impassively  : 

"  Where's  he  going  ?  To  Yalta  ?  How  will  he  make 
a  hving  ?  " 

"  As  a  private  tutor,"  replied  Shishmariof,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.     "  Students  often  do  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Private  tutor  ?  "  repeated  Molotchaief  in  astonish- 
ment, and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  faint  look  of  pity  on 
his  face. 

"  How  can  he  go  as  a  private  tutor  ?  Why,  a  puff  of 
wind  would  blow  him  away  I  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  replied  Shishmariof,  looking  as  if  he 
were  going  to  say  something  pleasant.  "  A  poor  devil 
like  that  can't  afford  to  pick  and  choose.  He's  not  been 
blown  away  yet,  and  he'll  have  to  get  along  somehow." 

At  this  moment  a  black,  tattered  parasol  appeared 
below  the  window,  followed  by  a  second,  a  bright  red 
one. 

"  Here^come  Maria  Nicolaievna  and  Sonia,"  said 
Lande. 

With  Semenof  they  then  entered.  Sonia,  looking 
grave,  sat  down  in  the  corner,  facing  Lande.  Maria 
Nicolaievna  seemed  nervous  and  ill  at  ease.  She  stood, 
laughing,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  twirled  her 
parasol,  yet,  though  she  glanced  about  her  in  all  direc- 
tions, she  never  appeared  to  see  Molotchaief. 

When  he  observed  her  come  in,  one  of  the  muscles 
of  his  knee  began  to  quiver.  He  got  up  and  walked  to 
the  window,  as  he  glanced  furtively  at  her  from  time  to 
time. 

The  cab  now  arrived.  One  could  hear  it  rattle  and 
the  horses  snort. 

"  Well,  I  must  go,"  said  Semenof  hstlessly. 

Lande  was  about  to  lift  the  trunk,  but  Molotchaief 
called  out,  "  Here  I   what  are  you  doing  ?  "  and  picked 


IVAN    LAND  E  177 

up  the  trunk  as  if  it  were  a  feather,  pleased  to  be  able  to 
show  how  strong  he  was.  Maria  Nicolaievna  glanced 
at  him  for  a  moment  as  she  turned  to  look  at  Semenof, 
who  already  sat  huddled  up  in  the  carriage  in  his  faded 
green  cloak  with  its  tarnished  buttons,  and  his  cap  pulled 
right  down  over  his  ears. 

"  Well,  good-bye  !  "  he  said  sadly,  as  the  horse  started. 
"  Au  revoir  !    Au  revoir  T^  cried  a  chorus  of  bright 
young  voices. 

"Hi!     Stop!"     The    driver    pulled    up.     "So    you, 

Lande,  are  .      Oh !     Well,    it's    not   my  business ! 

As  you  please  !  Good-bye  ! "  And  he  drove  away. 
They  could  see  his  bent  figure  being  jolted  along  the 
street ;  it  had  almost  a  sinister  appearance  in  all  that 
warmth  and  brightness,  as  if  only  on  that  the  blessed  sun 
would  not  shine.     Sonia  wept  silently. 

I  will  go  back  with  you,  Maria  Nicolaievna,"  said 
Molotchaief.  His  commanding  tone  alarmed  her,  and 
she  replied : 

"  I  am  going  to  stop  here,  with  Sonia,"  though,  till 
then,  she  had  not  thought  of  doing  so. 

Molotchaief  reddened,  and  again  that  animal  desire  for 
revenge  came  over  him. 

"  Good ! "  exclaimed  Lande  with  evident  pleasure. 
"  It  is  just  with  you  that  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk." 

The  glance  that  Molotchaief  gave  Lande  was  full  of 
jealousy  and  anger  as  he  replied  curtly,  "  As  you  please  ! 
Good-bye  !     Come  along,  Shishmariof  !  " 

In  Semenof's  cool,  empty  room,  Maria  Nicolaievna  sat 
down  near  the  window  that  faced  the  garden,  with  Sonia 
beside  her,  while  Lande  stood  close  by. 

"  What  was  it  that  you  had  to  tell  me  ?  "  asked  Maria 
Nicolaievna  smiling. 

"  You're  so  young,  and  beautiful,  and  good,"  said  he, 
smiling  in  his  turn,  "  that's  why  it  was  with  you  that  I 
wanted  to  talk." 
She  laughed  merrily. 
"  As  if  I  really  was  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Of  course  you  are  I    And  what  a  grand  thing  that  is  !  " 
"  What  is  ?  " 

M 


178  IVANLANDE 

"  Why,  that  beautiful  young  women  exist.  I  always 
think  that  God  only  bestowed  feminine  beauty  and 
youth  and  tenderness  upon  men  so  that  they  should  not 
entirely  despair  of  attaining  happiness  and  love  while 
their  terribly  grievous  and  joyless  work  in  this  life  endures." 

Sonia  watched  him  intently,  and  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  the  colour  came  into  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  So  that,  when  this  work  is  accomplished,  women 
will  no  longer  be  needed  ?  "  asked  Maria  Nicolaievna 
pensively. 

"  Not  at  all  ?  Why  should  that  be  ?  "  replied  Lande 
with  enthusiasm.  "  They  will  remain  as  splendid  as 
ever  they  were,  but  all  of  us,  and  all  things,  will  then  be 
just  as  splendid  and  youthful  and  kindly.  All  will  then 
be  bright  and  joyous  ;  but  at  present  women  are  but  as 
a  sunbeam  that  comes  to  cheer  us,  a  ray  of  that  most 
glorious  future." 

After  a  pause  he  added : 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but  I  always  feel  sorry  when  a 
young,  happy  girl  gives  herself  to  some  eager,  brutal  man. 
Though  I  feel  glad  that  she  should  be  happy,  at  the  same 
time  I  am  sorry  for  her.  It  is  as  if  some  one  should  take 
possession  of  a  radiant  little  flame  that  shone  upon  us  all, 
bear  it  hence,  and  put  it  out.  It  is  not  any  base  motive 
that  causes  me  to  have  this  feeling.  It  only  grieves  me 
that  there  are  far  too  few  of  us  men  who  possess  such 
little  flames." 

"  But  it  cannot  be  otherwise,"  she  replied  softly,  as 
she  bent  her  head,  thinking  that  Lande  alluded  to  her. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not.  Only  I  am  sorry  that  youth  and 
beauty  cannot  be  of  universal  benefit.  Yet  men  think 
that  would  be  harmful.     I  don't  know — perhaps " 

Maria  Nicolaievna,  as  she  turned  her  eyes  to  Lande, 
felt,  as  never  before,  a  strange  passionate  longing  for 
life  and  love  ;  to  love  her  fellow-creatures  ;  to  get  all 
that  she  could  from  this  pleasant,  shining  world  ;  to 
yield  up  her  youth,  her  beauty,  and  her  strong,  splendid 
body.  It  was  a  sudden  thrill  that,  passing,  left  behind  it 
calm,  tender  sympathy  for  this  gentle,  delicate  man 
with  the  glorious  eyes  who  stood  beside  her.     As  she 


IVANLANDE  179 

saw  their  frank,  happy  expression,  she  longed  to  be  one 
with  him. 

"  I  have  never  felt  such  strange  joy  in  hving  as  now," 
she  said. 

"  Ah  !  you  must  always  have  that  feeling,"  said  Lande. 
"  It  is  indeed  a  joy  to  be  conseious  of  so  mueh  beauty, 
and  to  know  that  it  gives  to  others  such  delight." 

"  Lande,  where  are  you  ?  "  cried  Shishmariof  from 
outside. 

Lande  hurriedly  left  the  room,  and  the  girls  could  hear 
Shishmariof  say  urgently :  "  We  came  back  to  let  you 
know  that  the  mother  of  that  pupil  wants  to  see  you 
at  once." 

"  I'll  come  at  once,"  said  Lande  mechanically,  almost 
mournfully. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  sighed  deeply  as  she  put  her  arm 
round  Sonia's  slender  neck  and  drew  her  closer. 

"  Maria,"  cried  Sonia  solemnly,  "  you  must  marry 
Vania  !  " 

A  faint  blush  overspread  the  girl's  features  as  she 
tenderly  kissed  Sonia's  brow. 

Lande  came  back. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  have  to  go,"  he  said. 

Maria  rose  and  arranged  her  hair  as  she  again  gazed 
at  Lande. 

"  I'll  come  with  you,"  she  said.  Outside,  on  the  steps, 
next  to  Shishmariof,  she  caught  sight  of  Molotchaicf's 
handsome  face.  He  looked  somewhat  pale  as  he  stared 
grimly  at  her,  and  she  turned  away  in  annoyance. 

"  How  could  I  behave  like  that  yesterday ! "  she 
thought. 

Left  by  herself,  Sonia  sat  for  a  long  time  motionless, 
gazing  at  the  garden  trees  until  they  faded  from  her 
sight.  Then,  rising,  she  sighed  hysterically,  rolled  up 
the  sleeve  of  her  dress,  and  bit  her  pale,  thin  arm  as  hard 
as  she  could.  On  the  tender  skin  two  curved  rows  of 
red  spots  were  visible.  Sonia  watched  how  swiftly  the 
blood  filled  these  marks,  which  formed  a  little  crimson 
crown. 


XIV 

Late  that  evening,  as  with  bowed  head  Lande  walked 
homeward  after  seeing  his  pupil,  he  thought  to  himself : 

"  Fifteen  roubles.  .  .  .  Five  will  be  quite  enough  for 
me.  I  must  send  ten  to  Vassia.  .  .  .  Only  I'm  afraid 
that  he'll  be  angry.  Ah  !  well,  I  must  write  and  tell 
him  that  I've  got  two  lessons  I  " 

This  idea  cheered  him. 

It  had  now  grown  quite  dark,  so  that  the  outlines  of 
objects  were  blurred  and  dim.  At  the  open  window, 
which  looked  like  a  black  spot,  sat  Lande's  mother.  He 
recognized  her  while  at  a  distance,  and  his  heart  smote 
him.  This  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  seen  her  since 
she  had  told  him  that  she  did  not  wish  to  know  anything 
about  him  until  he  had  changed  his  ridiculous  views 
concerning  life.  As  she  shrieked  this  at  him  he  had  not 
been  able  to  look  her  in  the  face,  but  went  away,  deeply 
distressed ;  nor,  since  then,  had  he  ventured  to  visit  her 
lest  he  should  again  hear  that  strange,  discordant  voice. 

Yet  now,  as  he  saw  her  sitting  there  at  the  window, 
bent  and  forlorn,  his  heart  was  filled  with  tender  pity, 
and  hastening  towards  her,  he  silently  embraced  her. 
She  said  not  a  word,  but  only  wept  tears  of  joy  as  she 
kissed  his  head. 

"  Mother,  dearest  mother ! "  he  whispered,  pressing 
his  lips  to  her  trembling  hand. 

"  My  own  darling  boy  !  You  won't  go  away  any  more, 
will  you  ?  You  won't  forsake  your  old  mother  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  No,  I'll  not  leave  you.  I  won't  go  away,"  he  mur- 
mured tenderly. 

Slowly,  imperceptibl)^  night  came  on.  Lande  still 
stood  by  the  window-sill.  In  the  whole  world  this  was 
all  that  seemed  lacking  to  him,  this  tranquil  love  and 
endearment. 

From  the  other  side  of  the  ditch  a  tall,  dark  figure 
advanced, 

180 


IVAN    LAND  E  181 

"  Ivan  Ferapontovitch,  is  that  you  ?  " 

Lande,  recognizing  Molotchaief,  said  hurriedly : 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,  mother,"  as  he  went  out 
to  Molotchaief. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

Molotchaief  was  breathing  hard,  and  he  looked  con- 
fused. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  word  with  you.  Hadn't  we 
better  walk  on  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

So  they  went  along  the  dark,  deserted  road.  Molot- 
chaief still  seemed  breathless  and  excited. 

"  I  wanted  to  say  ...  so  you've  made  it  up  with 
your  mother  ?  " 

Lande  smiled. 

"  I  had  never  quarrelled  with  her." 

"  Oh,  of  course  ;  I  quite  forgot  that  you  never  quarrel 
with  anybody,  never  upset  anybody,"  sneered  Molotchaief, 
"  but  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  you've  upset  me  I  " 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  Lande  with  concern. 

"  None  of  your  nonsense,  please  !  "  he  shouted  roughly, 
as  he  stood  still.     "  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean." 

"  Don't  shout  at  me  hke  that,"  said  Lande.  "  Indeed 
I  had  no  intention  of.  ..." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  cried  Molotchaief,  furious  now, 
as  he  flourished  the  handle  of  his  riding-whip  in  Lande's 
face,  "  if  you  cross  my  path  I'll  simply  fling  you  aside 
like  some  old  rag  !  " 

Choking  with  rage,  he  turned  sharply  on  his  heel  and 
hurried  away. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  said  Lande  to  himself 
sadly. 


XV 

It  was  a  special  gala  night  in  the  Municipal  Gardens, 
and  Maria  Nicolaievna  went  there  with  Lande.  For  the 
last  fortnight  she  had  been  his  constant  companion,  as 
in  his  presence  she  felt  calm  and  happy  ;  sure,  too,  that 
her  affection  for  him  was  simple  and  sincere.  Lande 
always  spoke  in  the  same  gentle,  kindly  way,  never  giving 
any  hint  of  passion  or  desire.  Nor  did  she  at  any  time 
talk  to  him  of  love,  though  deep  in  her  heart  she  cherished 
what  as  yet  was  but  a  golden  dream. 

She  had  not  met  Molotchaief  for  a  long  time.  He 
had  at  first  sought  to  draw  her  into  conversation  by  a 
blunt  reference  to  that  night  of  rapture.  When,  however, 
she  shrank  from  him  in  alarm,  he  threatened  to  go  away  ; 
in  fact,  he  did  leave  the  town  for  a  short  time.  To  her 
this  was  a  relief.  Yet,  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his  return, 
she  became  pleasurably  anxious  and  eager.     • 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  herself.  "  Am  I  really  so 
bad  ?  I  love  Lande,  that  good,  pure  man.  Not  that 
animal !  " 

Despite  her  repugnance,  she  still  thought  of  Molotchaief 
with  curiosity  and  interest.  She  had  a  presentiment 
that  he  would  come  to  the  Gardens  that  night. 

"He'll  come!  I  know  he  will,"  she  thought.  "I 
must  go,  I  must  go." 

Yet  she  did  not  go,  but  waited,  deceiving  herself. 

"  After  all,  what  is  he  to  me  ?  I'm  only  afraid  of  him 
— afraid  of  his  brutality."  Thus  she  sought  to  justify 
herself,  while  yet  aware  that  she  lied. 

The  music  of  the  band  ceased,  and  behind  the  motion- 
less trees  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  shuffling 
feet  of  promenaders  on  the  gravel- walks. 

"  Do  you  know  that  Sonia  is  going  to  undertake  a 
pilgrimage  on  foot  ?  "  said  Lande. 

"  Impossible  I  "  cried  Maria  Nicolaievna.  "  Where  is 
she  going  ?  " 

"  It's  over  a  hundred  versts  away,     She's  chosen  her 

182 


IVANLANDE  183 

travelling  companion,  a  simple  old  woman,  and  now  she 
wants  to  start.     She  asked  me  for  my  advice." 

"  And  you  advised  her  to  go  ?  " 
1^"  No.     She  asked  me  in  such  a  way  that  I  saw  at  once 
that  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  go.     I  said  nothing," 
replied  Lande  gravely. 

"  She's  in  love  with  you,"  observed  Maria  Nicolaievna, 
and,  though  she  did  not  notice  it,  it  displeased  her  to  say 
this. 

"  No,"  affirmed  Lande  calmly.  "  I  daresay  that  you 
really  think  that  she  is  in  love  with  me.  I  know  what 
you  mean.  But  this  is  not  so.  She  is  not  in  love  with 
me,  but  with — how  shall  I  express  it  ? — with  what  is  great. 
Sonia  is  a  wonderful  girl.  She  has  a  great  heart,  and  yet 
so  little  love.  There  are  people  like  that,  and  they  are 
always  unhappy.  In  their  hearts  they  would  like  to  hold 
something  enormous — the  whole  world.  They  are  ready 
to  do  deeds  of  heroism,  to  suffer  martyrdom  ;  and  yet 
they  lack  that  love  which  prompts  them  to  cherish  the 
small  things  that  lie  close  to  their  hand." 

While  Maria  Nicolaievna  Ustened  to  Lande  her  eyes 
were  steadily  fixed  upon  the  lighted  entrance  of  the 
gardens.  Suddenly  she  saw  Molotchaief  appear,  who, 
not  noticing  her,  turned  aside  into  another  alley.  Yet 
she  did  not  move. 

"  Molotchaief,  here  they  are  !  "  cried  Shishmariof,  and 
then  they  both  approached. 

Silently  Molotchaief  pressed  the  girl's  soft  little  hand, 
while  his  companion  addressed  Lande  with  great  vigour. 
At  first  she  paid  no  attention,  but  after  a  while  she  heard 
Lande  say  : 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  human  beings  in  their  chase 
for  happiness  all  try  to  push  their  way  through  one 
door,  like  those  shut  up  in  a  burning  house.  Each 
thinks  he  can  save  himself  by  fighting  his  way  out 
quicker  than  anybody  else  ;  but  in  the  horrible  crush  all 
perish." 

"  The  struggle  for  existence  I  "  exclaimed  Shishmariof. 

"  There  ought  to  be  no  struggle,"  replied  Lande  firmly. 
*'  It  is  impossible  to  get  out  over  a  pile  of  corpses.     One 


184  IVANLANDE 

must  keep  calm,  stand  still,  not  mutually  hinder  each 
other,  but  make  room  for  one  another." 

"  Like  the  two  Frenchmen -who  politely  gave  way  to 
each  other,  and  who  both  fell  into  the  mire,"  sneered 
Molotchaief.  "  It's  all  nothing  but  sentimentality.  Since 
we  have  our  life,  we  must  just  live  it.  It's  not  my  fault 
if  some  one  is  weaker  than  myself." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  added  : 

"  I  push  him  into  the  mud,  stamp  on  his  head,  and 
walk  over  him." 

Lande  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Let  us  have  done  with  all  these  tears  and  lamentations. 
That's  not  life  !  "  said  Molotchaief. 

"  And  if  somebody  stamps  on  your  head,  what  then  ?  " 
asked  Maria  Nicolaievna  coldly. 

Molotchaief  turned  quickly  round. 

"  Let  him.  But  I'll  soon  see  to  that."  Then,  smihng, 
he  hesitatingly  added  : 

"  Maria  Nicolaievna,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
I  want  to  tell  you  something — about  him,"  indicating 
Lande  with  a  nod  of  his  head. 

The  latter  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Tell  it  me  here,"  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"  No,  not  before  him.  You  seem  to  be  afraid  of  me," 
he  said  in  an  undertone. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  smiled  superciliously. 

"  Let  us  go.     Lande,  you'll  come  on  too,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Lande,  as  he  turned  again  to 
Shishmariof  and  resumed  his  task.  As  she  walked  along 
in  front  she  heard  him  say  : 

"  Man  can  never  be  happy  while  he  rules  by  force, 
and  only  when  he  rules  by  love.  But  it  ^vill  be  a  long 
while  yet  before  that  comes  to  pass." 


XVI 

One  evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  Lande  joined  the  others 
at  their  usual  meeting-place  on  the  cliff.  Shishmariof 
hurried  towards  him. 

"  Look  here  !  I've  had  a  letter  from  Semenof.  Really, 
it's  too  absurd  of  you  !  Why  the  deuce  do  you  do  such 
crazy  things  ?    He  tells  me  that  you  sent  him  ten  roubles." 

"  Never  mind,  Lionia,"  said  Lande  simply,  as  he  looked 
away  across  the  river. 

"  But  I  do  mind  !  "  exclaimed  Shishmariof  indignantly. 
Then,  as  he  saw  Lande's  mournful  smile,  he  turned  away, 
feeling  too  much  annoyed  to  remonstrate  further.  "  What 
do  I  care  ?  Go  to  the  devil,  if  you  like  !  "  he  thought  to 
himself. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Why  are  you  so  sad  ?  "  asked 
Maria  Nicolaievna  tenderly,  as  she  lightly  touched  the 
sleeve  of  his  grey  tunic. 

"  My  mother  is  worrying  me,"  he  said  sorrowfully. 

Full  of  jealous  hate,  Molotchaief  glanced  at  Maria 
Nicolaievna's  hand  as  it  rested  on  Lande's  arm.  Turning 
away,  he  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  What  about  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  She's  always  asking  me  to  lead  another  sort  of  life  ; 
one  for  which  I  am  not  fitted.  She  keeps  urging  me  to 
take  the  money  and  travel  abroad.  But  I  do  not  want 
to  do  this.  There  is  nothing  for  me  there.  Men  are 
everywhere  alike." 

"  But  the  life  is  different,"  replied  Shishmariof. 

"  No,  the  life's  the  same,  because  the  people  are  the 
same.  Life,  as  I  think,  no  longer  depends  upon  the 
number  of  railways,  universities,  or  the  like.  Life  is  in 
the  man  himself ;  to  use  it  to  advantage  is  the  great  thing. 
Even  if  life  abroad  should  be  different,  why  should  I  go 
thither  ?  I  should  certainly  never  be  able  to  live  in  that 
way." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  could  at  least  see  what  it  was  like  !  " 
cried  Shishmariof  with  enthusiasm. 

185 


186  IVANLANDE 

"  No,"  smiled  Lande,  "  but  I  should  like  to  go  away 
somewhere,  away  from  everybody.  Not  for  always,  but 
for  a  time.  I  often  think  that  it  is  necessary  for  every 
man  at  times  to  retire  from  the  world  and  to  dwell  by 
himself,  in  a  desert,  say,  or  a  place  of  that  sort,  so  that 
he  may  spend  some  time  in  meditation  and  self-discipline." 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  the  first  to  set  the  example," 
said  Molotchaief  rudely,  and  his  whole  face  seemed  dis- 
torted by  fury.  "  That  would  really  have  been  the 
most  sensible  thing  to  do." 

For  a  while  Lande  looked  gravely  at  him.  Then, 
sighing,  he  shrugged  his  narrow  shoulders  and  said  : 

"  I  know  that  I  annoy  you.     I  am  sorry." 

"  And  so  am  I ;  very  sorry,"  replied  Molotchaief  in 
his  usual  rough  tone. 

Just  at  that  moment  a  tall  man,  leaving  the  high  road, 
came  across  the  grass.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  large 
heavy  stick,  and  creeping  up  behind  Molotchaief,  he 
struck  him  a  violent  blow  on  the  head.  Maria  Nicolaievna 
uttered  a  piercing  scream  and  rushed  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  leaning  right  over  it  as  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Shishmariof  dropped  his  cap  and  stood  there, 
helpless.  Lande  sprang  forward  and  seized  Sonia  by  the 
hand.  Her  eyes  were  wide  open  ;  they  expressed  intense, 
almost  savage,  curiosity.  Not  for  a  moment  did  Molot- 
chaief lose  his  nerve.  Like  lightning  he  snatched  the 
stick  from  Tkatchof,  who  nearly  fell  down,  and  then, 
clenching  his  teeth,  struck  him  on  the  face,  the  head, 
and  the  hands.  Mad  with  pain  and  rage,  Tkatchof  reeled 
backwards  and  sought  to  ward  off  the  blows  with  his 
arms,  and  one  could  see  that  he  was  bedabbled  with  blood. 
The  fourth  of  these  fearful  blows  struck  Lande's  arm. 
He  had  rushed  forward  to  protect  Tkatchof,  crying : 
"  Don't !     Don't  hit  him  any  more  !  " 

For  a  moment  Molotchaief  glared  at  him  furiously  as 
he  lowered  the  stick.  Then,  raising  it  suddenly,  he  struck 
another  sharp  blow,  which,  with  a  sickening  sound,  hit 
Lande  on  the  cheek. 

Lande  staggered  and  turned  a  ghastly  white  ;  there 
were  tears  in  lus  eyes. 


IVAN    LAND  E  187 


(( 


Hit  me  !  Yes,  do,  if  you  want  to,"  he  muttered,  as 
his  Hps  trembled  and  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Molotehaief, 
while  never  changing  his  position.  It  was  then  that 
Molotehaief,  flinging  away  the  stick,  brutally  struck 
Lande  twice  in  the  face  with  his  fist,  who  staggered  and 
fell  backwards  over  the  bench  with  his  legs  in  the  air. 
As  he  turned  sharply  round,  Molotehaief  hurled  Tkatchof 
aside  and  then  strode  rapidly  away. 

There  was  a  general  outcry  as  they  all  rushed  forward 
to  help  Lande.  Tkatchof  raised  him  up,  looking  horror- 
struck,  while  Maria  Nicolaievna  kissed  his  pale,  trembling 
fingers  and  Shishmariof  tried  to  put  his  cap  on  for  him, 
murmuring  incoherently  all  the  while.  Sonia  embraced 
him  with  her  frail  little  arms,  and  they  all  tottered  about 
at  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  like  birds  scared  by  the  sound 
of  a  gun. 

"  Good  heavens  !  What  an  awful  thing  !  "  exclaimed 
Maria  Nicolaievna. 

"  Ivan  Ferapontovitch  !  Forgive  .  .  .  forgive  me  !  " 
stammered  Tkatchof. 

Lande  turned  his  swollen  face  towards  them  and  tried 
to  smile  as  he  feebly  grasped  their  hands.  His  eyes  were 
half  closed,  his  nose  and  mouth  were  bleeding,  while 
mud  and  grass  were  sticking  to  his  forehead. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  as  with  difficulty  he  moved 
his  puffed  Hps.  "  He  did  not  mean  to  hit  me.  I  know 
he'll  feel  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  I  shall  go  and  see 
him." 

Clasping  her  thin  hands,  Sonia  stepped  backwards  and 
exclaimed  ecstatically  : 

"  Vania,  what  a  saint  you  are  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense,  Sonia  !  "  replied  Lande, 
with  a  feeble  gesture.  Then,  rising,  he  walked  forward 
with  outstretched  arms,  and  they  all  saw  that  Molotehaief 
was  standing  at  ten  paces  distant  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  sniggering  sheepishly  as  he  looked  at  Lande. 

Maria  endeavoured  to  prevent  Lande  from  advancing. 
"  You  must  not  do  it  !  You  must  not  do  it  !  "  she  cried, 
as  she  stood  in  his  way.  But  he  gently  yet  firmly  thrust 
her  aside : 


188  IVANLANDE 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying." 

As  Lande  approached  him,  holding  out  his  hand, 
Molotchaief  turned  very  red,  and  there  was  hatred  in  his 
eyes  as  he  said  mockingly  : 

"  What  a  touching  comedy,  to  be  sure  !  " 

Then  he  turned  round  sharply  and  walked  away.  For 
a  long  time  Lande  watched  him,  and  then,  sinking  down 
on  the  bench,  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  appa- 
rently overcome  with  grief. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  cried  Shish- 
mariof  angrily.     "  Have  you  gone  stark,  staring  mad  ?  " 

By  this  time  a  crowd  had  collected  in  the  roadway. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  laughter  among  the  spectators. 
Shishmariof  looked  round  quickly  and  then  hurriedly 
walked  away. 

"  To  the  deuce  with  you  !  Silly  blockhead  !  Saint, 
indeed  !  "  he  blurted  out  bitterly. 

Tkatchof  stood  with  his  arms  hanging  down  as  if  some 
one  had  suddenly  splashed  him  with  cold  water. 

"  That  kind  of  thing's  not  a  bit  of  good,"  he  mockingly 
exclaimed.  For  Lande  it  was  intended  as  an  answer  and 
a  warning. 


XVII 

That  night  Lande  became  feverish.  The  wounds  on  his 
head  throbbed  violently,  causing  great  pain  and  dizziness. 
It  was  probably  some  kind  of  nervous  fever,  so  Shish- 
mariof  thought,  and  Maria  Nicolaievna  and  Sonia  resolved 
to  sit  up  with  him  all  night.  Each  with  a  book,  they 
took  their  places  at  the  table,  but  they  did  not  read,  and 
only  gazed  sadly  at  the  flame  of  the  lamp.  When  the 
night  was  well  advanced,  Sonia  left  Maria  Nicolaievna 
alone  with  the  sick  man.  The  room  was  in  semi-darkness. 
To  Maria  Nicolaievna  the  lamp's  dull  circle  of  light 
seemed  magical,  as  she  sat  with  her  head  bent  and  her 
hands  folded  on  her  lap.  Though  outwardly  motionless, 
within  her  brain  there  raged  a  veritable  tempest  of 
confused,  disquieting  thoughts.  On  reflection  it  seemed 
to  her  that  all  was  now  at  an  end.  To-morrow  the  whole 
town  would  know  that  she  had  spent  the  night  here,  and 
this  would  give  rise  to  loathsome  scandal.  For  a  long 
while  such  thoughts  distressed  her,  till  at  last  one  single 
thought  took  clearer,  nobler  shape  and  inspired  her. 
Henceforth  she  would  be  always  united  to  Lande — kind, 
good  Lande,  the  best  of  all  the  men  that  she  knew.  She 
turned  towards  him  as  he  lay  there  pale  and  thin,  with 
long  white  arms  stretched  out  above  the  coverlet.  The 
lamplight  did  not  reach  the  bed,  so  that  in  the  gloom 
Lande's  profile  stood  out  in  clear  relief,  his  disfigured 
cheek  being  hidden  in  shade.  Kneeling  down  beside  the 
bed,  she  laid  her  beautiful  head  on  his  breast  and  shut 
her  glowing  eyes.  Lande  did  not  appear  surprised. 
Gently  and  carefully  he  took  hold  of  her  soft,  shapely 
chin  and  drew  her  head  nearer  to  his.  Her  hot  lips  were 
pressed  against  his.  He  kissed  her  tenderly,  as  one  would 
kiss  a  child.  With  ever-increasing  ardour  she  returned 
his  caress,  pressing  her  soft,  supple  body  close  to  his, 
submissively,  longingly.  All  at  once  she  opened  her 
questioning  eyes  and  looked  at  Lande's  face.  Its  cold, 
frightened  expression  shocked  her.  It  was  indeed 
intolerably  repulsive. 

189 


190  IVANLANDE 

"  Not  like  that !  No  !  No  ! "  he  murmured,  smiling 
helplessly. 

In  a  moment  it  flashed  across  her  brain  that  she  had 
made  an  atrocious  mistake.  She  sighed  faintly  and 
hastily  rose,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  Lande 
sat  up  in  confusion. 

"  Maria  Nicolaievna,  is  there  any  need  .  .  .  for  .  .  . 
that  ?  I  love  you  .  .  .  only  .  .  .  not  like  that  1  "  he 
stammered,  holding  out  his  trembling  hands. 

She  moved  away  towards  the  table  and  sat  down,  still 
screening  her  face  with  her  hands,  smihng  hysterically. 
Then  she  got  up  as  if  to  go,  sat  down  again,  moved  about 
restlessly,  and  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  the  sick  man, 
mortified,  ashamed,  and  feeling  a  certain  hatred  for 
Lande  himself. 

"  It  was  nothing.  A  mistake  !  It  was  only  in  fun. 
I  don't  know  how  I  .  .  ." 

So  she  stammered  on,  conscious  that  she  was  drifting 
farther  and  farther  away  from  him. 

Sonia,  hearing  a  slight  noise,  now  came  in  and  stood 
in  the  doorway,  gravely  watching  them. 

"  Maria,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked  sternly. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  Sonetchka,"  faltered  Maria 
Nicolaievna.     "  It's  time  for  me  to  go." 

Then  she  went  out,  knocking  her  shoulder  awkwardly 
against  the  door.  She  flitted  like  a  phantom  through  the 
cold,  deserted  streets  in  the  wind  and  the  gloom.  Sonia 
carefully  shut  the  door  behind  her  and  then  approached 
Lande's  bed. 

"  Sonia,  dear  one,  that's  my  fault !  What  shall  I 
do  ?  I  ought  to  have  known  !  "  And  he  clasped  her 
hands. 

Sonia  clenched  her  teeth  tightly  so  that  the  cheek- 
bones of  her  puny  face  became  more  prominent,  and  in 
her  eyes  there  was  a  malicious  gleam  : 

"  It's  not  your  fault,"  she  said  with  emphasis. 
*'  They're  afl  ahke  ;  animals,  beasts.  She's  just  such 
another." 

"  Sonia,  what's  that  you  say  ?  "  cried  Lande. 
I    hate   them   all !  "   exclaimed   Sonia   vindictively. 


11 


IVANLANDE  191 

"  How  commonplace  and  filthy  they  all  are  !     No  better 
than  the  dogs  !  " 

Lande  stared  at  her,  aghast,  and  to  him  it  did  not 
seem  that  Sonia  stood  there,  but  rather  some  evil  little 
gobhn. 


XVIII 

The  fight  on  the  cliff  provoked  a  good  deal  of  gossip  in 
the  town,  and  Maria  Nicolaievna's  name  was  coupled 
with  Lande's  in  the  most  flagrant  manner.  Wherever 
she  went  she  encountered  the  same  offensive  curiosity  or 
ill-concealed  contempt.  As  the  result  of  such  treatment 
she  began  to  feel  hatred  for  Lande.  Yet  when  he  came 
to  see  her  for  the  first  time,  she  had  a  faint  hope  that  all 
might  pass  like  some  horrible  dream,  and  that  her  life 
might  be  bright  and  happy  as  before. 

Lande  entered  quietly,  his  face  swathed  in  a  large  white 
bandage. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said  in  his  calm  voice. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  got  up  in  confusion,  but  did  not 
reply  to  his  greeting. 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you.  .  .  ."  He  paused,  as  if 
unable  to  continue,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  outburst,  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  Oh  !  Maria  Nicolaievna,  if  you  only  knew  how  fond 
I  am  of  you  !  To  me  you  are  like  some  bright,  glorious 
angel !  " 

Her  eyes  shone,  and  she  smiled  timidly. 

"  Yet  I  can  never  be  your  husband,"  he  faltered. 

Maria  Nicolaievna  winced  as  if  she  had  been  struck  in 
the  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Is  this  to  insult  me  ?  "  she 
asked  haughtily. 

"  No  ;  you  know  that  I  would  never  insult  you.  I  am 
simply  saying  just  what  I  feel.  I  love  you  ;  but  not  in 
that  way.  Is  there  no  other  love  but  that  sort  of  love  ? 
And  is  it  absolutely  necessary  ?   For  me  it  is  impossible !  " 

"I  am  not  asking  for  your  love.  Please,  go  away." 
Lande  was  holding  her  hand  mechanically;  and  that  in 
itself  disgusted  her.     She  snatched  it  away  angrily. 

"  Leave  me  alone !  " 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Lande,  "I  did  not  mean.  .  .  ." 

But  Maria  Nicolaievna  cut  him  short  by  making  a 

192 


IVAN    LAND  E  193 

hasty  exit  from  the  room,  having  first  adjusted  her  hair, 
dropping,  as  she  did  so,  several  hair-pins  on  the  floor. 
She  gave  him  one  withering  glance  as  she  passed. 

Lande  waited  there  alone  in  the  dusk,  and  after  a  while 
a  maid  brought  him  a  note.  She  had  round,  stupid  eyes, 
and  stared  at  him  in  alarm. 

The  note  was  as  follows  : 

"  For  God's  sake,  leave  me  in  peace.  Perhaps  I  am  bad 
and  horrid,  but  you  only  worry  me.  I  hate  you — loathe 
you,  as  I  do  vermin." 

Lande  went  out  into  the  dark  street.  Suddenly  some 
one  accosted  him.     It  was  Tkatchof. 

"  Ivan  Ferapontovitch !  I  must  speak  to  you.  I 
have  been  waiting  about  for  the  last  three  days,  hoping 
to  see  you  !  " 

Lande  stood  still. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  cordially.  "  Why  didn't 
you  call  on  me  ?     I  should  have  been  so  pleased." 

Tkatchof  smiled  confusedly  as  he  grasped  Lande's 
hand. 

"  Perhaps  I  might  have  called  .  .  .  but  there  are 
other  people  at  your  place,  and  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk 
to  you  by  yourself." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  that  at  last  you've  come,  Tkatchof," 
exclaimed  Lande.  "  Come  back  with  me  and  we'll  have 
some  tea." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Tkatchof  in  a  low  voice. 

They  had  but  a  little  way  to  go  and  they  walked 
along  in  silence.  Lande  lit  the  lamp,  prepared  the  tea, 
and  seated  himself  opposite  Tkatchof,  looking  affec- 
tionately into  his  eyes. 

"  If  you  only  knew  how  pleased  I  am  that  you've  come 
to  see  me,"  he  said  smiling. 

"  I  wanted  to  come  a  long  time  ago,"  said  the  other, 
looking  down  in  confusion.  "  Ever  since  that  evening 
— you  know,  in  the  wood  !  " 

"  Ah,  yes !  " 

"  And  when  he  struck  you,  then,  all  in  a  moment,  like 
a  flash,  I  seemed  to  understand  that  the  truth  was  not  on 
my  side  but  on  yours.     There's  nobody  like  you,  Ivan 

N 


194  IVANLANDE 

Ferapontovitch  !  "  he  said  with  evident  emotion,  as  he 
partially  rose  from  his  seat, 

Lande  beamed  at  him. 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  say  that,  Tkatchof  !  " 

Tkatchof  sighed  deeply,  as  if  preparing  to  sustain  the 
weight  of  some  huge  burden. 

"  That's  my  opinion,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch,  only  I  don't 
know  how  to  express  myself  properly." 

"  Go  on  !  TeU  me  all.  You'll  say  it  all  right,  I'm 
sure,"  said  Lande  encouragingly,  as  he  stroked  the 
other's  hand. 

"  Well,  I  came  on  purpose  to  tell  you,  and  speak  I 
must.  You  remember  all  that  I  said  to  you  in  the 
prison  ?  Ah  1  that  was  because  I  had  grown  utterly 
desperate.  I  had  been  the  \dctim  of  so  much  cruel  in- 
justice that  I  had  lost  all  faith  in  mankind.  I  believed 
that  things  must  be  thus,  and  that  men  were  all  villains, 
all  beasts  of  prey.  I  had  got  to  hate  mankind  and 
myself  and  life.  But  then  it  was  you  who  opened  my 
eyes.  In  you  I  saw  what  a  real  man  is,  and  what  a  man 
can  be.  I  remembered,  too,  how  for  the  sake  of  two 
righteous  men  the  Lord  was  willing  to  spare  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah — and  I  thought  to  myself  that  a  man  like  this 
can  transform  life " 

"  Tkatchof  !  "  exclaimed  Lande,  interrupting. 

"  No  ;  wait,  wait  a  moment  !  I  know  that  at  present 
everybody  is  not  able  to  understand  you,  but  by  degrees 

your  influence  will  be  felt,  and Look  you,  this  is 

my  idea  I  "  he  said,  bending  closer  towards  the  other,  so 
that  his  hot  breath  warmed  Lande's  cheek,  and  his  dark, 
sad  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  his  brain. 

"  We  must  announce  a  new  faith  to  the  people  !  "  he 
whispered  excitedly. 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Lande  in  amazement. 

"  A  new  faith  !  Yes,  the  people  are  ready,  are  waiting, 
longing  for  it  !  They'll  come  to  you  from  all  parts  of 
Russia.  Yet  the  news  must  go  forth  and  be  circulated. 
You'll  stand  above  them  all ;  you'll  lead  them  all,  Ivan 
Ferapontovitch  !  " 

Tkatchof  was  flushed  and  trembling  with  excitement. 


IVAN    LAND  E  195 

"  What  faith  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Lande  sternly. 
"  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  Everything,  Ivan  Ferapontovitch  1  As  for 
announcing  a  new  faith,  that's  only  to  start  the  move- 
ment ;   to  set  things  going  !  " 

Lande  rose,  looking  white  and  austere. 

"  That's  not  a  right  thing  to  do,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you 
really  see  what  a  fearfully  wieked,  blasphemous  imposture 
that  would  be  ?  Truth  cannot  spring  from  falsehood.  I 
could  never  do  that  I     Don't  think  of  such  a  thing." 

Tkatchof's  face  grew  dark.  He  looked  intensely 
pained.  "  Ivan  Ferapontovitch  !  You  are  the  one  and 
only  person  to  do  it  !     Are  we,  then,  all  to  be  ruined  ?  " 

"  No  one  will  be  ruined  !  How  can  you  talk  like  that  ? 
What  you  propose — it  is  just  that  which  would  cause 
ruin.  You  would  never  succeed,  because  such  a  thing 
ought  not  to  be.  There  is  no  need  for  deceit.  The  fight 
must  go  on,  for  it  is  necessary,  as  some  cleansing  fire. 
But  each  step  forward  in  this  fight  must  be  an  honest  one. 
Truth  is  what  will  lead  one  to  triumph." 

"  Then — it  is  not  to  be  ?  "  asked  Tkatchof  hoarsely, 
"  So  ...  I  have  made  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  Forget  it,  Tkatchof  I     Forget  all  about  it  !  " 

As  he  walked  down  the  cold  dark  street,  Tkatchof 
shouted  wildly  in  the  wind : 

"  Oh  !  the  devil  take  it  all !  He  might  have  done  it, 
wretched  fool  1  " 

Somewhere  in  the  darkness  the  night-watchman  an- 
nounced the  passing  of  the  hour. 


XIX 

After  a  sleepless  night  Lande  rose,  feeling  weak  and  ill. 
All  night  long  he  had  been  thinking  of  Tkatchof  and  Maria 
Nieolaievna. 

"  How  strong  they  are  !  And  how  tremendous  is  their 
love  of  life  !  They  are  unhappy  now,  but  that  will  pass, 
and  their  vital  forces  will  remain.  Whether  fortunate 
or  unfortunate,  they  will  be  happy." 

That  morning  he  resolved  to  see  Molotchaief.  He 
found  him  at  home,  seated  on  the  window-sill,  smoking 
cigarettes.  On  seeing  Lande  he  got  up  quickly  and 
turned  red.  Lande  calmly  walked  straight  into  the  room, 
and,  smihng,  held  out  his  hand.  For  a  moment  Molot- 
chaief felt  a  certain  kindliness,  as  if  he  wanted  to  grasp 
the  proffered  hand,  and  then  Lande's  attitude  seemed 
to  him  almost  an  affront,  for  he  drew  himself  up,  as,  with 
ironical  politeness,  he  shook  hands,  saying : 

"  Delighted !  Prav,  sit  down.  And  how  is  your 
health  ?  " 

Lande  touched  his  bandage  and  said  simply  : 

"  Not  very  good.     You  knocked  me  about  terribly." 

Molotchaief  blushed  again  and  appeared  suddenly  dis- 
concerted. But,  recovering  himself,  he  said  in  the  same 
offensively  courteous  tone  : 

"  I  really  am  extremely  sorry." 

With  clear,  calm  eyes,  Lande  looked  into  his. 

"  No,  why  should  you  be  sorry  ?  You  are  not  sorry  in 
the  least.     You  wished  to  hurt  me." 

Molotchaief  felt  crushed.  He  was  bitterly  conscious 
that  it  was  not  Lande,  but  he  himself  who  looked  ridiculous. 

"  I  really  came  to  you  to-day,"  said  Lande,  with  great 
composure,  "  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  for  having 
caused  you  to  do  this.  I  know  that  you  were  jealous  of 
me  with  regard  to  Maria  Nieolaievna.  I  had  not  the  least 
wish  to  come  between  you.  I  certainly  love  this  girl 
because  of  her  extraordinary  vitality,  her  huge  delight  in 
life  ;   but  my  love  for  her  was  quite  different  from  what 

19G 


IVANLANDE  197 

she  wanted  it  to  be.  Now,  having  found  out  her  mistake, 
she  hates  me.  Go  to  her,  and  I  beheve  that  she  will 
give  you  her  affection.  And  forgive  me ;  and  don't 
bear  me  any  ill-will,  for  I  like  you.  You  are  a  strong, 
fine  fellow.  Now  I'll  go,  for  I  am  sure  that  my  presence 
is  distasteful  to  you.     Good-bye  !  " 

Lande  got  up  and  held  out  his  hand.  Molotchaief  bit 
his  lip,  and  they  shook  hands.  When  Lande  had  gone 
the  artist  again  felt  a  kind  of  jealous  hatred  for  him. 

He  walked  quickly  up  and  down  the  room  and  sought  to 
foment  the  flame.  He  seemed  to  have  succeeded,  for  he 
managed  to  laugh  at  Lande,  yet  at  the  same  time  he  felt  a 
certain  remorse.  Why  this  was  he  could  not  tell ;  but 
the  feeling  was  keen  and  poignant ;  and  by  degrees  he 
got  the  impression  that  he  would  never  be  free  from  it. 


XX 

Lande's  life  became  more  and  more  solitary,  and  gradually 
he  had  a  presentiment  of  something  inevitable.  For  the 
last  few  days  he  had  been  always  alone,  though  Sonia 
came  constantly  to  look  after  him.  One  night  he  wrote 
a  long  impassioned  letter  to  Semenof  full  of  obstinate 
questionings  concerning  truth,  human  beings  and  human 
happiness.     To  this  the  sick  student  replied  as  follows  : 

"  Pray,  leave  me  in  peace.  I  am  dying,  and  have  to 
think  of  something  more  important  than  you.  I  am  now 
face  to  face  with  the  final,  supreme  question  of  human 
existence.  How  am  I  going  to  die  ?  Do  you  suppose 
that  a  man  can  talk  of  human  beings,  or  love,  or  solitude, 
when  he  must  die,  and  die  utterly  alone  ?  You  cannot 
understand  what  that  really  means.  There  is  only  one 
word  to  express  it,  horror  !  .  .  .  " 

"  Some  day  you  yourself  will  discover  how  silly  it  all  is. 
And  you  will  hate  men  for  the  stupid  part  that  they  have 
led  you  to  play,  just  as  much  as  I  hate  them  now.  If  you 
only  knew  what  a  fearful  hatred  I  have  for  them  all  ! 
May  you  all  be  cursed  1  If  I  had  the  power,  I  would 
demolish  the  whole  earth.  Why  have  I  lived,  Lande  ? 
All  seems  utterly  horrible,  desolate,  and  cold.  For  God's 
Bake,  don't  worry  me  any  more  I  " 

"  Poor  Vassia  1  "  thought  Lande.  "  How  filled  he  is 
with  horror  and  hatred  1  That  is  because  he  is  alone — 
alone  with  his  sufferings  and  his  fears.  I  must  go  to 
him  1  I  must  get  some  money.  But  who  will  help  me  ? 
It  is  no  good  asking  mother.  She  will  give  nothing. 
Anything  that  I  want  to  do  only  vexes  her  and  makes  her 
wish  to  oppose  me.  Who  else  is  there  ?  Shishmariof  ? 
But  he's  got  nothing  himself.     I'll  go  to  Father  Paul." 

Next  day,  still  with  his  head  bandaged,  Lande  crossed 
the  large  grass-grown  square  and  entered  a  small,  pleasant 
courtyard.  Though  it  was  a  grey,  windless  day,  the 
trees  with  their  golden  leaves  seemed  bathed  in  sunlight. 
In  the  tiny  front  garden  beneath  the  windows  were  bright- 

198 


IVANLANDE  199 

hued  flowers,  and  there  was  an  odour  of  apples,  autumn 
leaves,  and  incense. 

The  old  priest,  rosy  and  white-haired,  was  sitting  on 
the  veranda  in  his  clean,  white  cassock.  Lande  hastened 
towards  him. 

"  Good  day.  Father  Paul," 

"  Good  day,"  he  replied  in  friendly  fashion,  "  Please 
sit  down.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  you,"  said  Lande.  "  One  of 
my  comrades,  named  Semenof — perhaps  you  know  him — " 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  of  him,"  said  the  priest  drily,  as  with 
his  little  shrivelled  hand  he  stroked  his  beard. 

"  Well,  this  Semenof  is  dying  of  consumption,"  said 
Lande  hastily. 

"  God's  will  be  done  1  "  was  the  solemn  reply.  The 
priest  sighed  deeply  and  crossed  himself. 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  from  him,  a  fearful  letter," 
said  Lande,  bending  forward  confidentially.  "  It  is 
plain  that  he  is  in  the  last  state  of  despair.  In  his  soul 
there  remains  nothing  but  hate  and  fury.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  him  if  I  could 
go  to  him.  He  will  then  feel  that  he  is  not  alone,  and  that 
in  itself  will  suffice.  .  .  .  Only  I  have  no  money  for  the 
journey,"  he  added  suddenly,  with  a  child-like  smile. 

He  looked  in  the  priest's  face,  and  all  at  once  the 
kindly  eyes,  or  what  seemed  to  him  kindly  eyes,  contained 
in  their  depths  a  look  at  once  evil  and  watchful.  In- 
stinctively he  stopped.  The  priest,  without  speaking, 
looked  at  him.  In  the  silence,  a  golden  leaf  fell  circling 
to  the  ground. 

"  Here  is  the  letter.     Will  you  please  read  it  ?  " 

So  saying,  Lande  produced  the  letter  and  gave  it  to 
the  priest,  who  sighed  again  and  proceeded  to  read  it 
calmly,  as  if  it  were  the  tranquil  life-story  of  some  saint. 
Then  he  sighed  again,  folded  the  letter  and  handed  it 
back. 

"  Now,  you  see  1  "  exclaimed  Lande,  pointing  to  the 
letter  which  he  had  placed  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

"  You  will  please  put  that  letter  away.  I  cannot  have 
such  stuff  in  my  house,"  said  the  priest  sternly. 


200  IVANLANDE 

Lande  did  not  understand  what  the  priest's  words 
meant,  but  he  took  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

"  So  I  came  to  ask  you  for  some  money.  It  is  necessary, 
as  you  see,  that  some  one  should  go  to  him,"  he  said  with 
simple  earnestness. 

The  old  priest  sighed. 

"  Yes,  very  likely  it  is.  But  I  shall  not  give  you  any 
money  for  that  purpose.  I  have  it,  you  understand,  but 
I  don't  intend  to  give  it." 

As  if  stunned,  Lande  sprang  to  his  feet  in  despair. 

"  Why  ?     You  read  yourself  what  he  wrote  !  " 

The  old  priest  also  got  up. 

"  Yes.  I've  known  this  Semenof  for  some  time.  He's 
a  godless  blasphemer,  an  atheist,  an  apostate.  And  I  do 
not  counsel  you  to  go  to  him." 

Lande  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

*'  You  mean  that  I  am  to  forsake  him  and  let  him  die 
in  despair  ?  " 

"  This  death  is  the  reward  of  his  deeds,"  said  the  old 
priest,  with  his  hands  folded  behind  his  back,  and  again  in 
his  eyes  there  was  an  evil  gleam. 

"  But  you  fear  God  ?  "  cried  Lande.  "  What's  this 
that  you  say,  little  father  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  your  place  to  teach  me,"  rephed  the  priest. 

"  But  you  are  a  servant  of  the  Church — the  Church  of 
Christ  ?  " 

"  This  Mr.  Semenof  has  long  since  renounced  the  Church, 
and  it  would  not  be  fitting  for  the  Church  to  run  after  him, 
do  you  understand  ?  " 

Lande  became  desperate. 

"  Yet  .  .  .  without  money  I  cannot  travel  ?  " 

"  You  might  try  and  get  a  free  pass.  Or  you  could 
even  go  on  foot." 

"  But  that's  too  far  !  " 

The  old  priest  sighed. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  long  way.  But,  as  I  understand  you,  you 
desire  to  do  a  great  deed,  so  that  you  will  surely  spare  no 
pains  ?  " 

Lande  all  at  once  felt  chilled  in  the  presence  of  this 


I 


IVANLANDE  201 

rosy,  white-haired  old  man.  He  turned  away  and  went 
towards  the  gate. 

"  But  I  must  get  there  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  may 
die  before  I  arrive."     And  he  stood  still. 

The  old  priest's  reply  had  in  it  a  touch  of  malice  and 
scorn.     "  If  God  wills  it,  you  will  still  find  him  alive." 

Lande  was  silent.  Like  a  white  cloud  against  the 
golden  background  the  priest  stood  in  the  middle  of  that 
peaceful  courtyard. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Lande,  "  I  must  be  going.  If  I 
cannot  get  any  money,  I  shall  have  to  go  on  foot.  The 
money  doesn't  matter  much.  But  how  ashamed  of  your- 
self you  must  feel !  "  he  said  solemnly. 

The  priest  raised  his  skinny  little  hand. 

"  That'll  do  !     Just  take  yourself  off." 

"  Little  Father,  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you." 

"  Get  you  gone,  I  say." 

With  bowed  head  Lande  silently  went  out.  He  heard 
how  the  old  priest  came  to  the  gate  and  fastened  the  latch. 


XXI 

In  the  evening  Lande  told  his  mother  what  he  had  decided 
to  do. 

"  More  tomfoolery  I  "  she  cried  angrily.  "  In  God's 
name,  when  is  it  ever  going  to  end  ?  "  So  saying,  she 
got  up  and  walked  out  of  the  room,  banging  the  door 
after  her.  Lande  sadly  watched  her  go,  and  then,  taking 
up  his  cap,  he  went  to  Shishmariof.  He  was  alone  in  his 
room  making  tea,  and  a  large  book  lay  spread  open  before 
him.  On  seeing  Lande,  he  rose  awkwardly  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Ah  !     It's  you  !     Sit  down  and  have  some  tea." 

"  No  thank  you,"  said  Lande.  "  I've  had  a  letter 
from  Semenof." 

Oh  1     And  what  does  he  say  ?  " 
Here  !     Read  it  for  yourself." 

Shishmariof  read  the  letter  carefully  through. 

"  Poor  fellow  1  "  he  sighed,  when  he  had  finished.  Then 
he  put  his  two  hands,  which  stuck  out  from  the  short 
sleeves  of  his  jacket  between  his  knees,  and  rubbed  them 
together,  as  if  he  were  cold. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  him,"  said  Lande. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Shishmariof,  "  What  can  you  do 
there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do  ;  but  I  have  a  feehng 
that  I  must  go." 

For  some  time  past  Shishmariof  had  been  conscious  that 
Lande  and  he  were  estranged.  Lande's  sweet  temper 
he  considered  a  sign  of  weakness,  of  inability  for  conflict. 
Occasionally  he  recognized  in  it  something  that  surprised 
and  amazed  him,  but  he  never  really  gave  it  a  thought, 
being  intentionally  indifferent  to  it  as  to  everything  else 
which  did  not  present  itself  with  absolute  clearness  and 
simplicity  to  his  keen,  hard  intellect. 

He  now  looked  seriously  at  Lande  as  he  continued 
rubbing  his  hands,  and  said  : 

I  do  not  understand  that.     You  lay  such  stress  on 

202 


ii 


IVANLANDE  208 

this  'feeling,*  as  if  there  were  something  mystic  about  it. 
In  my  opinion  your  presence  there  would  not  help 
matters  in  the  least.  You'll  only  worry  yourself  and  him, 
too.     Better  not  go.     Why  should  you  ?  " 

"  You  ask  why  ?  "  replied  Lande  pensively.  "  In  that 
question  alone  there  lies  a  thought  that  makes  for  the 
ruin  of  mankind.  One  must  never  ask.  We  must  aet 
as  our  heart  prompts  us  to  act.  That  is  the  force  which  is 
higher  than  ours.  If  we  seek  to  measure  it  by  our 
standard  we  do  but  cripple  our  soul." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  your  soul  ?  "  exclaimed 
Shishmariof,  shrugging  his  shoulders  irritably.  "  Do 
leave  your  soul  alone  1  There  must  be  some  recognized 
method  of  discrimination  with  regard  to  our  actions.  If 
you  wish  to  go,  you  must  first  of  all  be  satisfied  as  to 
what  use  there  is  in  your  going." 

Lande  sighed  sadly.  "  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it 
won't  be  of  any  use  at  all." 

"  Then  where's  the  object  in  going  ?  " 

"  The  object  ?  That  truth  which  I  feel  within  me,  and 
which  calls  me,"  said  Lande  with  fervour, 

"  More  truths  !  "  sneered  Shishmariof. 

"  That  is  the  supreme  truth,"  replied  Lande.  "  There's 
none  that  comes  higher  than  that." 

Shishmariof  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

*'  There  is  only  one  higher  truth ;  it  is  that  which 
reason,  logic  gives  us,"  he  exclaimed.  "  We  possess 
nothing  that  is  not  obtained  by  thought." 

Lande  clapped  his  hands  together. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  How  poor,  how  miserable  life 
would  be  if  that  were  really  the  case  1  " 

Shishmariof  leapt  from  his  seat  and  swung  his  arms 
aloft. 

"  Miserable,  indeed  1  In  my  opinion  it's  more  miser- 
able to  lull  oneself  to  sleep  with  fairy-tales,  and  to  impose 
limits  to  one's  thoughts." 

"  Yet  Reason  is  conscious  of  its  own  limits,"  replied 
Lande  gently. 

"  No,  it  knows  no  limits  I  "  cried  Shishmariof  in  a  shrill 
voice. 


204  IVANLANDE 

"  The  horizons  of  Thought  are  boundless.  Though,  at 
the  moment  we  do  not  know  all,  there  is  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  we  shall  not,  some  day.  Thought  is  just  as 
limitless  as  the  whole  world  itself.  Just  as  the  bounds  of 
possibility  become  enlarged,  so  Thought  becomes  en- 
larged ;   is  infinite  !  " 

"  Extending  to  the  void  ?  "  asked  Lande  with  wide- 
opened  eyes. 

"  Yes,  to  the  void  !  "  screamed  Shishmariof. 

"  But  that  is  horrible  !  " 

"  Very  likely  it  is  horrible.  I  know  very  well  that  it  is 
far  easier  to  indulge  in  the  golden  dream  of  an  all-embracing 
spirit,  and  the  rest  of  it.  But,  for  my  part,  I  prefer  the 
void,  the  unknown,  to  a  truth  which  is  only  so  far  a  truth 
because  it  serves  to  make  life  easy  and  pleasant." 

Shishmariof  was  trembling  all  over  with  excitement, 
and  his  red  fingers,  thrust  into  his  jacket  pockets,  were 
twitching  continually. 

"  I  won't  quarrel  with  you,"  said  Lande  simply.  "  You 
are  cleverer  than  I  am ;  and,  besides,  it's  wrong  to  quarrel 
about  such  a  thing.  Yet,  just  because  I  feel  how  sublime 
is  the  grandeur  and  strength  of  the  human  spirit,  I  cannot 
believe  that  it  came  from  the  void,  and  that  in  the  same 
way  it  will  return  thither,  like  some  mad  marsh-fire 
engendered  in  a  swamp  !  It  burns  too  brightly ;  its 
development  is  too  powerful ;  it  encircles  the  whole 
world  and  gives  it  light  and  warmth.  No,  I  feel  the  force 
of  Truth — and  ...  I  must  go  to  Semenof,  Lionia,  I 
must !  " 

"  That  is  another  matter,"  replied  Shishmariof.  "  If 
you  desire  to  go,  if  you  are  sorry  for  him,  then  by  all 
means  go.     That's  your  affair." 

He  sat  down  again  and  went  on  with  his  tea,  rattling 
the  spoon  noisily  in  the  half  empty  glass.  His  shoulders 
were  still  trembling  with  excitement. 

"  I  want  to  go  by  train,  but  I  haven't  any  money." 
"  Well,  old  chap,  I  haven't  any,  either,"  replied  Shish- 
mariof apologetically,  as  like  a  debtor  he  flung  both  arms 
apart. 
Lande  snapped  his  fingers. 


IVANLANDE  205 

"  My  God  !     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Shishmariof.  "  Somehow,  you 
may  be  able  to  manage  it  later." 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Lande  in  a  determined  tone,  "  there's 
no  time  to  wait.     I  must  go  at  once." 

Shishmariof  looked  up  in  surprise  and  smiled. 

*'  Oh  !  so  you  must  go  at  once  ?  How  do  you  mean  to 
go  ?     On  foot  ?  " 

"  On  foot,  of  course.  I  might  get  a  lift  part  of  the 
way,"  replied  Lande  simpl}''. 

For  a  moment  Shishmariof  stared  at  him,  as  he  opened 
his  mouth  wide.     Then  he  suddenly  became  grave. 

"  Look  here,  Lande,  there's  a  limit  to  all  these  mad 
fancies,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  not  a  mad  fancy,"  replied  Lande.  "  I  have  no 
journey-money,  so  I  must  go  on  foot.  Pilgrims  can 
march  thousands  of  versts." 

"  Pilgrims  ?  "  For  a  moment  Shishmariof  seemed 
puzzled.  "  Yes,  but  in  the  first  place  they  are  pilgrims  ; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  they  don't  make  their  pilgrimages 
in  autumn.     You  will  simply  be  stranded  on  the  way." 

"  Perhaps  not." 

Shishmariof  showed  some  of  his  previous  excitement. 
"  The  pilgrims  go  for  their  faith's  sake,  which " 

"  And  I  go  for  my  faith's  sake,  too,"  said  Lande,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  well,  but  you  must  at  least  make 
allowance  for  circumstances." 

"  Oh  !  it's  so  easy  to  arrange  one's  life  according  to 
circumstances,"  said  Lande,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  remon- 
strance, as  his  eyes  twinkled.  "  At  that  rate,  one  would 
at  last  entirely  cease  to  believe  in  oneself,  and  make 
circumstances  the  main  thing.  No  ;  I  feel  that  I  ought 
to  go,  and  in  some  way  or  other  go  I  must." 

"  Yet  be  convinced  of  this  one  thing :  that  what 
you're  doing  won't  make  the  slightest  difference." 

"  That  we  don't  know,"  repHed  Lande  impressively. 
"  It  only  appears  so." 

Shishmariof  was  silent.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
else  he  could  say. 

"  It's   such   a   silly   idea.     You   will   certainly   never 


206  IVANLANDE 

reach  Yalta,  nor  make  things  any  better.  It'3  silly  and 
impossible." 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  Lande,  "  I  know  that  to  you  it 
seems  silly  and  impossible  and  absurd.  But  still,  I 
mean  to  go.  Don't  try  to  prevent  me,  old  fellow, 
don't  !  " 

Shishmariof  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  muttered  : 
"  Deuce  take  me  if  I  know  what  to  think  !  "  And  he 
went  on  drinking  his  tea.     For  a  while  there  was  silence. 

Lande  rose. 

"  Well,  I'm  going.     Good-bye,  and  au  revoir  !  " 

"  Sit  here  a  little  longer." 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,  I  can't.  I  must  get  a  few  things 
ready."  He  shook  the  other's  hand  warmly,  and  Shish- 
mariof suddenly  had  a  strange  foreboding,  a  presenti- 
ment of  ill. 

"  Then  you're  really  going  ?  "  he  asked,  wanting  to 
laugh,  and  yet  with  a  choke  in  his  voice. 

Lande  was  a  head  taller  than  he,  and  looked  down  on 
him  affectionately. 

"  Yes,  going  I  "     And  he  nodded. 

Shishmariof  wanted  to  say  something  else,  but  had  a 
curious  sensation  as  if  his  throat  were  closed.  They 
were  standing  in  the  little  passage,  lit  only  by  a  slender 
ray  of  light  which  came  through  the  crack  in  the  door, 
when  suddenly  Lande  recollected  Tkatchof. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  man  on  whose  account 
Molotchaief  hit  me  ?  "  he  asked,  "  He  came  to  see  me 
not  long  ago." 

And  Lande  gave  an  account  of  his  interview  with 
Tkatchof ;  a  short,  simple  account  which,  however, 
appealed  powerfully  to  Shishmariof's  imagination.  He 
seized  Lande's  hand  impulsively,  exclaiming  : 

"  The  idea  is  simply  tremendous  1  What  did  you  say 
to  him  ?  " 

"  It  grieved  me  much,"  replied  Lande,  "  to  shatter  his 
dream." 

"  Then  you  refused  ?  " 

Lande  smiled.  "  How  could  I  consent  to  pose  as  a 
prophet  when  I  am  not  one  ?  " 


IVANLANDE  207 

Shishmariof  rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  said  gloomily  : 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

He  accompanied  Lande  to  the  steps,  in  the  dim  light, 
for  the  moon  was  hidden  by  a  cloud. 

"  Farewell !  "  Lande  called  out,  as  he  departed  in  the 
gloom. 

"  Farewell  !  "  came  the  answering  valediction. 

For  a  long  while  Shishmariof  remained  standing  on  the 
steps,  and  then,  returning  to  his  room,  he  sat  down  at 
the  table.  The  lamp  only  served  to  illumine  this,  and 
the  corners  of  the  room  were  quite  dark.  Shishmariof 
moved  the  book  closer  to  him  ;  yet,  though  the  letters 
danced  before  his  eyes,  they  made  no  impression  upon 
his  brain.  He  felt  strangely  excited.  He  sat  down  and 
then  got  up  again,  as  if  some  terrible  thing  had  happened, 
something  that  greatly  distressed  him.  Lande's  figure 
was  ever  present  in  his  thoughts  and  his  imagination.  In 
his  ears  the  sound  of  his  voice  still  lingered,  while  dim 
and  nebulous  his  form  seemed  to  rise  up  before  his  eyes. 
All  at  once  he  laughed  a  weird,  unnatural  laugh. 


XXII 

On  a  raw  night  in  early  autumn  when  the  air  was  keen, 
Lande  quietly  left  home.  He  wore  an  old  black  cassock 
which  he  had  bought  from  a  monk,  and  carried  a  bag 
on  his  back.  The  whole  town  was  silent  and  empty. 
An  impenetrable  veil  of  white  clouds  covered  the  sky 
where  neither  moon  nor  stars  could  be  seen.  Slowly, 
slowly  the  dark  houses  with  their  blank  windows  and  the 
cheerless  trees  receded  in  the  gloom.  Soon  Lande  had 
reached  the  open  country.  The  wind  tossed  the  skirts 
of  his  cassock  apart  and  wailed  drearily  in  his  ears. 
Before  him,  bleak  and  vast,  lay  the  boundless  steppe, 
where  the  slow-moving  clouds  seemed  at  a  greater  height, 
and  on  the  slopes,  grey,  withered  grasses  waved.  The 
huge  sense  of  space  and  freedom  filled  Lande's  breast,  and, 
strangely  enough,  at  the  same  time  he  felt  clearly  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  he  would  never  reach  Yalta.  Yet 
this  did  not  daunt  nor  discourage  him,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  he  felt  in  a  careless,  light-hearted  mood  as  if 
thereby  he  had  got  on  to  the  right  path  that  should  finally 
lead  him  to  his  goal. 

Yet  this  was  merely  a  presage,  not  a  clearly  defined 
thought.  In  his  mind  he  saw  only  the  image  of  the  sick, 
suffering  man  to  whom  he  was  going.  He  never  gave  a 
thought  as  to  what  would  become  of  himself. 

With  light,  springy  step  he  trod  the  broad  highway, 
gazing  around  him  with  joy  and  wonder,  and  listening 
enraptured  to  every  sound  borne  to  him  from  the  desolate 
steppe  by  the  wind. 

For  five  days  Lande  walked  on  through  various  hamlets, 
sleeping  at  night-time  in  huts  where  peasants  eyed  him 
with  disfavour,  and  would  barely  grant  him  an  entrance. 
Few  spoke  to  him,  for  few  could  understand  what  he  said 
to  them,  though  to  all  he  spoke  in  clear,  simple  fashion. 
Some  old  peasant-woman,  with  shrivelled  cheeks  propped 
against  her  hand,  would  ask  him  whence  he  came,  and  if 
he  were  not  from  the  Convent  of  the  Holy  Seraphim. 

208 


IVANLANDE  209 

But  the  male  peasants  looked  askance  at  him  and  were 
dumb.  On  the  fifth  day  a  hulking  peasant  with  wicked 
eyes  and  a  black  beard  that  might  have  been  lopped  with 
an  axe,  shouted  at  him  : 

"  You  clear  off  at  once,  or  else  we'll  put  the  police  on  your 
track  !     There  are  too  many  of  you  fellows  loafing  about  1 " 

To  Lande  this  ignorantly  hostile  attitude  on  the  part 
of  the  village  folk  was  lamentable  in  the  extreme. 

With  eager  eyes  he  observed  the  Hfe  in  these  hamlets 
through  which  he  passed,  yet  it  affected  him  in  the  same 
way  as  the  sight  of  the  large  herds  of  cattle  that  gazed  at 
him  with  wide,  mysterious  eyes  as  he  passed.  For  the 
men  as  for  the  beasts  he  felt  affection  and  sympathy. 
Yet  he  knew  instinctively  that  he  was  at  a  distance  from 
them,  that  they  had  no  need  for  him  ;  and  this  saddened 
him.  Only  when,  vast  and  spacious,  the  lonely  steppe 
lay  open  to  his  view,  and  the  sun,  as  it  were,  shone  for 
him  alone  in  all  the  world,  did  Lande  feel  glad  of  heart. 
Yet  this  was  at  rare  intervals,  for  on  every  side  he  per- 
ceived men,  countless  as  ants,  all  busily  at  work. 

When  he  at  last  got  on  to  the  road  through  the  forest, 
and  walked  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  calm,  stately  trees, 
a  transport  of  joy  seized  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  had  a  sense  of  unspeakable  relief,  since  here  no 
anxious,  gloomy  faces  met  his  view.  All  day  long  he 
followed  forest  paths  overgrown  and  scarcely  recognizable, 
and  all  day  long  beside  him  stood  only  the  tall,  pensive 
trees.  Birds  fluttered  silently  past  him,  apparently 
unaware  of  the  wanderer's  presence.  Here  and  there 
brushwood  crackled,  as  if  some  one,  yet  not  a  mortal, 
were  passing  through  the  forest. 

Then  gradually  it  grew  lighter ;  and  there  was  a 
moist  odour,  a  sense  of  some  strange,  incomprehensible 
force.  Something  glittered  among  the  trees.  It  was  a 
river,  broad,  deep,  and  cool.  Heeds  grew  on  either  bank, 
waving  their  sharp  green  blades  like  daggers  above  the 
stream  that,  in  placid  grandeur,  floated  on.  Opposite, 
like  a  dense  wall,  lay  another  forest,  dark  and  green 
as  this,  and  some  of  its  silent  trees  stretched  gnarled 
boughs  across  the  water. 

o 


210  IVANLANDE 

Here  there  was  solitude,  a  solitude  that  seemed  un- 
ending, as  Lande  sat  musing  by  the  bank.  Then  noise- 
lessly a  boat  approached.  This,  like  the  tree-stems,  was 
green  and  moist,  and  wild-looking.  Kneeling  as  he 
rowed  in  it  was  a  wet,  wrinkled  peasant.  He  in  no 
sense  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  forest  and  stream  ; 
indeed,  he  seemed  a  part  of  it,  so  that  the  eye  glanced 
unarrested  at  him  as  at  the  waving  reeds,  the  water  and 
the  sky. 

"  Little  grandfather  1  "  cried  Lande,  as  he  rose, 

(Across  the  water  came  the  echo  faint  and  strange  ; 
•  o— a— a— a  1  " 

"  Here  1  "  cried  the  peasant,  as  he  steered  for  the  bank, 

"  E — e — e  I  "  rang  the  echo  through  the  forest. 

While  the  peasant  rowed  and  rowed,  Lande  sat  in  the 
bow  of  the  boat  and  watched  his  reflection  like  a  long 
black  streak  in  the  water. 

"  Are  you  going  far  ?  "  asked  the  man  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"  Yes,  far,"  replied  Lande, 
;,The  man  looked  at  him  with  his  sharp  little  eyes, 

"  Oh  I  "  he  said,  as  he  ceased  rowing  and  stared  at  the 
water. 

"  They  say  that  in  Siberia  there's  much  more  room,"  he 
suddenly  began,  as  if  Lande' s  answer  were  related  to  his 
own  dull  thoughts.  "  That's  how  folk  go  roaming  about 
to  find  some  place  where  it's  better.  But  what's  the 
good  ?  One  tries  to  find  the  right,  but  there  isn't  any 
right  in  this  world.  If  you  live  here,  or  if  you  live  there, 
it's  all  the  same.  Like  me,  say,  in  the  forest.  All  things 
come  from  God,  and  you  yourself  go  back  to  God,  too. 
And  nobody  but  He  will  help  you.  .  .  .  We  know  nothing, 
but  just  grope  about  in  the  dark.  There's  no  such  thing 
as  right,  I  say,  no  such  thing.  Here  or  there,  the  world's 
the  same  everywhere  1  " 

In  the  man's  dull,  monotonous  voice  could  be  heard 
the  hidden  yearning  of  a  soul  oppressed. 

"  This  right  you  speak  of  lies  in  man  himself,  not  in  the 
world,"  replied  Lande  sadly.  "  We  must  love  one  another 
and  feci  pity  for  each  other.     The  rest  vvill  come  of  itself." 


IVANLANDE  211 

The  man  laughed  grimly. 

"  Ha  !  Ha  !  Come  of  itself,  eh  ?  Yes  ;  but  how  are 
we  going  to  live  to-day  ?  Tell  us  that,  first.  Love  one 
another  !  Ha  !  ha  !  How  can  we  love  one  another  when 
sometiines  we're  ready  to  cut  each  other's  throats  for  a 
morsel  of  bread  ?  " 

After  a  pause  he  added  :  "  It's  all  very  fine  for  the 
grand  folk  to  talk  !  The  nobility  and  the  priests  !  But 
their  notion  of  right  is  this  1  "  And  he  shook  his  bony 
fist  at  Lande.  "  That's  about  it  I  There's  no  justice  in 
this  world,  and  maybe  men  have  to  suffer  as  they  do  so 
that  one  day  justice  may  come.     That's  about  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  Yes  !  "  cried  Lande,  as  he  joyfully  nodded, 
"  Everything  in  this  world,  all  noble  work,  all  knowledge, 
all  thought — everything  is  carried  on  through  suffering. 
If  there  were  no  suffering,  the  soul  would  come  to  a  stand- 
still, would  die." 

The  boat  touched  the  shore,  and  Lande  slowly  got  out. 
For  a  moment  they  both  looked  at  each  other  without 
speaking.  It  was  as  if  some  mighty  bond  had  bound 
them.  Each  longed  to  speak  some  word  that  should 
bring  the  other  closer,  yet  neither  could  find  it,  nor 
rightly  utter  that  which  burned  within  his  heart, 

"  Farewell,  grandfather,"  said  Lande  sadly. 

The  peasant  muttered  something  inaudible  and  pushed 
off  from  the  shore,  gliding  over  the  water  again,  wet  and 
gnarled  as  some  floating  tree-stump. 

For  a  long  while  Lande  watched  him  till  he  disappeared 
round  a  bend  of  the  river,  as  the  long  silvery  streak  melted 
into  the  broad  mirror  of  the  stream.  Towards  evening 
Lande  lost  his  way.  But,  seeing  an  old,  disused  hut,  he 
resolved  to  stay  there  over  night.  It  was  a  bitterly  cold 
night.     Chilled,  overtired  as  he  was,  he  slept  but  little. 

Towards  morning  the  mist  that  all  night  long  had 
wrapped  the  tall  trees  like  a  dense  white  veil,  began  to  rise, 
and  turned  grey.  There  was  a  strange  thrill  in  the  air. 
Simultaneously  all  things  as  by  mutual  agreement  awoke 
swiftly  and  with  ease.  A  bird  twittered  softly,  as  though 
it  had  something  to  ask.  From  a  wet  bough  a  raven  slowly 
flew  straight  into  the  mist,  as  its  dew-laden  wings  brushed 


212  IVANLANDE 

against  the  dry  branches  in  passing.  The  forest  grasses 
shivered,  and  the  leaves  stirred,  as  all  around  became 
suddenly  brighter. 

All  at  once  the  mist  began  to  disperse,  becoming 
broken  up  into  slender,  waving  columns  that  swiftly  and 
silently  rose  or  fell  amid  the  stems  of  the  trees. 

Lande  crept  out  of  the  hut,  chilled  to  the  bones.  His 
features  looked  grey  and  pinched.  As  he  gazed  round,  all 
things  in  this  undulating  mist  for  a  moment  seemed  to  him 
to  have  become  strangely  altered. 

Yet  ever  brighter  grew  the  morning  as  the  mists  melted, 
and  on  all  sides  the  vast  murmur  rose  of  a  great  forest's  life. 
Touched  with  roseate  fire,  the  tree-tops  pointed  upwards 
to  the  dark  blue  dome  of  heaven.  Profoundly  impressed 
by  this  all-pervading  warmth  and  light,  Lande  felt  loth 
to  go.  He  sat  down  on  the  ground,  and  motionless,  with 
keen,  joyous  eyes  regarded  all.  Then,  as  day  came  on, 
he  lounged  beneath  a  tree  which  scattered  over  him  frail 
golden  leaves,  while  he  eagerly  observed  the  life  of  the 
forest  that  to  him  was  new  and  full  of  strange  mystery. 

Slowty,  dimly,  he  seemed  to  apprehend  it. 

A  deeper  sense  of  calm  came  over  him  as  his  physical 
strength  decreased.  He  noticed  this  weakness  and 
tried  to  eat  a  little,  yet  the  food  stuck  in  his  throat,  and 
after  he  had  eaten  he  felt  more  faint.  When  he  stood  up 
he  could  hardly  lift  his  foot ;  his  knees  trembled  strangely, 
and  he  was  seized  with  giddiness. 

"  I  am  ill,"  thought  Lande,  yet  without  fear  or  surprise, 
but  as  if  he  had  expected  this.  "  Very  likely  I  caught 
cold  in  the  night.     I  must  stay  here." 

Gradually  he  felt  strangely  happy.  "  Why  am  I 
glad  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  smiling.  "  Because  I  must 
stop  here  !  Or  is  it  for  some  other  reason  ?  .  .  .  I  don't 
know.  .  .  .  But  oh  !  how  delightfully  calm  and  happy 
I  feel !  " 

He  lay  there  all  day  long,  having  no  clear  thoughts,  but 
merely  musing  peacefully,  surrounded  by  such  a  wealth 
of  light,  and  life  and  colour  that  his  very  eyes  for  sheer 
longing  throbbed  and  burned. 

Ceaselessly  the  sweet  voices  of  the  woodland  sounded 


IVANLANDE  213 

overhead,  yet  he  saw  nothing  except  silent  birds  with 
green  plumage.  About  noon  a  lean,  shaggy  bear  came  out 
of  the  wood  and  looked  earnestly  at  Lande  with  its 
little  black  eyes.  Sitting  up  on  its  hind  legs  it  stretched 
out  its  neck,  sighed,  and  then  gazed  again  at  Lande.  A 
bird  swayed  gently  on  the  green  branches  above  him. 

"  Oh,  God,  how  beautiful !  "  he  murmured,  as  tears 
rose  to  his  eyes. 

The  bear  made  a  curious  sobbing  noise,  and  again 
stretched  out  its  neck. 

"  You  dear  thing  !  "  cried  Lande,  feeling  a  sudden 
impulse  to  pet  the  beast  and  stroke  its  brown,  matted 
fur.  Yet  he  feared  that  this  might  frighten  it.  That  the 
bear  might  attack  him  never  entered  his  mind.  So 
bland  and  serene  was  his  mood  that  to  realize  anything 
horrible  seemed  impossible. 

"  Shall  I  give  it  some  bread  ?  "  he  thought,  and 
laughed  at  the  idea. 

Once  more  the  bear  heaved  a  long,  drawn-out  sigh, 
looked  about  with  its  bright  black  eyes,  and  then  trotted 
back  into  the  forest.  Lande  felt  sorry,  and  yet  glad,  as 
he  watched  it  disappearing  amid  the  trees. 

"  Here  would  be  a  good  place  to  die,"  he  said  to  himself. 
The  thought  of  death  and  the  clear  consciousness  of  its 
nearness  now  took  possession  of  his  soul.  He  remembered 
Semenof,  but  merely  for  a  moment,  the  thought  being 
fused  and  lost  in  the  rich  splendour  of  the  day.  It  was 
as  though  he  were  going  to  some  one  other  and  mightier 
than  he. 


XXIII 

Rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  in  the  forest  there  were  perpetual 
noises.  At  times  it  seemed  as  if  some  one  were  sobbing 
behind  a  bush,  weeping  in  a  faint,  silvery  voice  ;  yet 
soon  one  could  clearly  hear  that  it  was  only  the  music 
of  the  rain. 

Lande  lay  in  the  wet,  dark  hut,  where  at  times  it  seemed 
as  if  beneath  him  yawned  a  fathomless  abyss.  With 
difficulty  he  lifted  his  hot,  trembling  hand  as  he  touched 
the  rain-drenched  branches  from  which  chilly  drops  fell 
on  to  his  face.  His  head  burned,  yet  feverlike  a  frost 
racked  his  limbs,  and  he  writhed  helplessly  on  the  ground 
in  his  dripping  cassock,  vainly  endeavouring  to  get 
warmth.  Sparks  glittered  before  his  eyes ;  countless 
golden  circles  revolved  in  the  gloom. 

"  I  am  dying,"  thought  Lande.  "  Yea,  Lord,  Thy 
will  be  done." 

Cold  and  in  agony,  he  wept.  His  tears  fell  unseen  on 
the  wet  ground  and  dripped  into  his  mouth  between  his 
chattering  teeth. 

"  Lord  1  Lord  !  "  he  exclaimed  gently,  and  here,  in 
the  forest  and  the  darkness,  this  solitary  call  sounded  so 
strange  that  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  there  were 
perfect  silence  so  that  his  cry  might  be  heard. 

Then  the  rain  fell  in  torrents  and  the  water  gurgled  as 
before.  Lande  now  became  unconscious,  as  in  a  high 
fever  he  lay  huddled  up  on  the  ground  with  his  knees  in 
a  pool  of  water. 

Out  of  the  darkness  emerged  the  head  of  a  large  hare 
with  long  ears  thrown  back,  and  red  eyes  that  stared  at 
Lande.  There  was  something  horrible,  something  mock- 
ing about  this  silent  head.  Slowly,  almost  imperceptibly, 
it  nodded  at  him.  Suddenly  a  yellow  light  shone  over 
everything,  as  if  at  his  back  there  burned  an  invisible 
flame.  Lande  caught  a  sidelong  glimpse  of  himself, 
filthy  and  disgusting,  in  a  pool  of  water,  with  the  black 
cassock  clinging  to  his  limbs,  and  at  his  heart  he  felt 

214 


IVANLANDE  215 

horrible  fear.  With  a  wild,  mad  scream  he  sat  up,  and 
in  so  doing  knocked  his  head  against  the  branches.  Icy 
rain-drops  fell  on  him  in  streams,  yet  he  remained  un- 
conscious. A  long  procession  of  familiar  faces  with 
shining  eyes  passed  him  and  were  lost  in  the  distance. 
Advancing  towards  him  they  bowed  to  him  and  then 
passed  on,  being  succeeded  by  others.  The  light  behind 
Lande  shone  no  longer  now,  but  from  himself  a  radiance, 
faint  yet  clear,  appeared  to  emanate. 

It  was  well  with  him  now,  and  he  had  peace. 

Then  the  same  lurid  light  reappeared ;  again  his 
black  body  could  be  discerned  coiled  up  on  the  ground  like 
a  crushed  worm  ;  again  the  hare's  head  slowly,  almost 
imperceptibly,  nodded. 

It  was  not  thought,  not  delirious  fancy,  nor  mental 
emotion,  but  only  the  dazzling  light  of  a  wondrous  per- 
ception, that  then  penetrated  Lande's  heated  brain.  In 
that  same  instant  his  whole  life  was  snapped  in  two.  It 
was  as  if  the  radiant,  forceful,  wondrous  part  of  him 
were  now  slowly  ebbing  away  and  passing  into  every- 
thing around  him,  while  he  himself  lay  in  the  grip  of  a 
final,  unconquerable  pain  that  drove  into  him  its  cruel 
claws  and  with  frightful  force  pinned  him  to  earth.         ^  ^ 

"  A — a — a  1  "  cried  Lande.  The  sound  of  his  feeble 
voice  floated  out  into  the  dark. 


XXIV 

When  going  home,  certain  peasant  folk  from  Riasau, 
carpenters,  found  in  the  wood,  at  a  long  distance  from  any 
human  dwelling-place,  the  body  of  a  man. 

The  corpse  lay  in  a  hut  roughly  constructed  of  dry 
branches.  The  limbs  were  contracted  and  the  hands 
convulsively  clenched,  while  the  long,  thin  neck  seemed 
partially  dislocated.  The  body  was  clothed  in  a  black 
cassock,  and  for  some  reason  or  other  one  foot  was  ex- 
posed to  view.  An  overpowering  odour  of  corruption 
blended  strangely  and  fearfully  with  the  delicate  smell  of 
the  dry  bracken  growing  in  that  place. 

One  of  the  peasants,  burly  and  red-bearded,  touched 
the  foot  of  the  corpse  with  the  tip  of  his  boot.  The  dead 
foot  hardly  moved. 

"  Died  here,  I  expect,"  was  the  peasant's  remark,  as  he. 
scratched  the  nape  of  his  neck,  and  for  a  while  stood  still. 
Then,  with  an  expression  on  his  face  of  fear  and  of  fury  for 
which  he  himself  could  not  account,  he  caught  hold  of  the 
projecting  foot  and  dragged  the  body  out  of  the  hut.  The 
head  swayed  and  bumped  up  and  down  as  the  hands 
flopped  heavily  and  trailed  along  the  ground.  All  at  once 
there  was  such  a  frightfully  nauseous,  penetrating  stench 
that  the  peasants  staggered  backwards. 

"  What  the  devil !  "  cried  the  red-bearded  man  in 
amazement,  as  if  that  had  been  totally  unexpected. 

The  men  stood  and  surveyed  the  corpse. 

There  it  lay,  forlorn  and  cold,  on  the  earth,  gazing 
upwards  with  dull,  lidless  eyes  at  the  distant  sky,  and  its 
lips,  now  sealed  for  ever,  without  words  spoke  of  some 
dreadful  secret.  At  the  breast  the  black  stuff  was  torn, 
disclosing  the  dull  yellow  flesh  beneath.  Faded  leaves 
and  dry  mud  adhered  to  it,  as  if  mother  earth  had  already 
taken  the  dead  man  into  her  grey  arms  and  were  drawing 
him  slowly,  yet  irresistibly,  down  to  herself. 

For  a  long  while  the  peasants  stood  looking  at  the 
corpse,  as  if  they  could  not  decide  what  ought  to  be 

216 


IVANLANDE  217 

done.  At  last  an  old  grave-faced  peasant  sighed,  and 
removing  his  cap,  crossed  himself.  Once  he  crossed  him- 
self, and  after  a  while  said,  "  May  heaven  be  your  por- 
tion !  "  Then  twice  he  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross.  All 
the  others  immediately  pulled  off  their  caps,  as  if  by  so 
doing  they  were  ridding  themselves  of  a  heavy  burden, 
and  waved  their  fingers  through  the  air.  Then,  in  single 
file,  they  went  away  without  looking  back. 

For  a  long  while  the  golden  forest,  and  the  sunlight,  the 
grass,  and  the  lofty  heaven,  seemed  to  them  shrouded  in 
some  invisible  veil,  fettered  by  some  grievous  silence.  Yet 
in  reality  all  things  were  overflowing  with  joy  in  the  glad- 
some light  and  beauty  of  the  landscape,  radiant  even  in 
decay. 

The  peasant,  who  walked  last,  glanced  stealthily  round ; 
and  he  could  just  discern  in  the  distance,  behind  a  golden 
brown  bush,  the  dim  outline  of  a  shrunken,  rigid  foot. 

The  sjDot  was  one  where  all  the  year  round  ferns  grew 
in  great  abundance. 


NINA 


NINA 


Nina  usually  spent  the  whole  evening  at  the  old  Ivolgins. 
She  always  felt  happy  and  at  home  there,  for  the  Ivolgins' 
house  was  bright  and  cosy  ;  and  she,  young,  buoyant, 
and  full  of  hope,  eould  be  happy  anywhere.  All  the 
time  her  talk  was  of  the  wonderful  life  that  she  meant  to 
lead,  and  of  the  gladness  that  was  to  be  hers.  At  eleven 
o'clock  she  went  home,  and  old  Ivolgin  accompanied 
her. 

It  was  dark  and  damp  out  of  doors.  From  the  river 
that  was  hidden  by  huts  and  sheds  came  a  humid,  fitful 
breeze,  and  one  could  hear  the  willows  wailing  at  the 
water's  edge.  On  the  river  there  was  a  muffled  sound 
of  something  that  cracked,  and  slid,  and  suddenly  dis- 
persed with  a  strange,  resonant,  gurgling  noise. 

"  The  ice  is  breaking  up,"  said  Ivolgin,  striving  to 
face  the  wind  that  flung  back  the  folds  of  his  cloak, 
shook  Nina's  dress,  and  spattered  their  faces  with  icy 
drops. 

"  And  now  the  spring  is  coming,"  replied  Nina  loudly, 
merrily  as  ever. 

It  really  almost  seemed  as  if,  out  of  the  darkness  that 
covered  the  river,  something  floated  to  them  on  the 
moist,  warm  air,  something  mighty  and  immense. 

"  You  will  soon  be  home  now,"  said  Ivolgin,  just  to 
cheer  his  companion,  for  the  girl,  young,  happy,  charming 
as  she  was,  always  roused  in  his  old  heart  a  sense  of  warmth 
and  joy  and  sorrow. 

"  Yes,  thank  goodness,  very  soon,"  cried  Nina.  Her 
merry  voice  in  the  wind  sounded  trembling  and  sweet. 
Passing  along  a  dark,  wet  street,  they  reached  an  open 
square.  Here  the  air  was  cold  and  bleak  as  a  draught 
from  a  vault.  On  the  church  wall  lay  half-thawed  snow 
that    gleamed    faintly    in    the    grey    mist.     Behind    the 

221 


222  NINA 

church,  fenced  in  by  gaunt,  bare  trees  which  rattled  hke 
black  bones,  stood  a  large  angular  house  built  of  brick. 
Its  two  lighted  windows  were  like  yellow  eyes  that  glared 
wrathfully  upon  the  general  gloom  without. 

"  Ah  !   some  one  has  come,"  said  Nina  eagerly. 

They  went  to  the  gateway,  looked  over  at  the  dark 
farmyard  that  gave  out  a  warm,  damp  smell  of  manure, 
and  stopped  at  the  school-room  door.  Nina  held  out  her 
hand  and  Ivolgin  in  friendly  fashion  clasped  her  soft 
little  hand  in  his,   and  said :   "  Good  night,  my  pretty 


one." 


Then,  pulling  his  cap  closer  about  his  ears  and  thump- 
ing the  ground  with  his  stick,  he  hurried  off,  glancing 
once  more  at  the  window  that  for  a  moment  lit  up  his 
bent  form  as  it  vanished  in  the  mist. 

Nina  ran  up  the  steps  and  tapped  at  a  dark  window. 
Some  one  came  out  from  the  gateway,  splashing  through 
the  puddles  and  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps. 

"  Is  that  you,  Matthew  ?  "  asked  Nina.  "  Have  you 
got  the  key  ?     Who  is  it  that  has  come  ?  " 

"  It  is  I,"  replied  a  dark  figure  in  a  hoarse  voice, 

"  Have  you  got  the  key  ?  " 

"  Here  it  is." 

Matthew  went  up  the  creaking  steps,  and,  pushing  past 
Nina,  opened  the  door  which  rattled  somewhat  on  its 
hinges.     There  was  a  smell  of  bread. 

"  Who  is  it  that  has  come  ?  "  asked  Nina  a  second  time, 

Matthew  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  The  Magistrate  with  the  Doctor  and  the  Commissioner 
of  Police.     At  Tarasovka  a  corpse  has  been  found." 

Nina  groped  her  way  to  the  class-room  to  look  for  matches. 

"  Where  can  I  have  put  them  ?  "  she  muttered. 

Matthew  stood  in  the  darkness  and  was  silent.  At 
last  Nina  found  the  matches  and  lit  the  lamp.  A  faint 
ghostly  light  fell  on  the  rows  of  desks  and  benches  that 
resembled  coffins  in  the  cold,  bare  room. 

"  I  have  to  get  the  post-chaise  ready,  Miss,  to  fetch 
witnesses  from  Tarasovka." 

"  Now  ?     To-night  ?  "  asked  Nina,  in  surprise. 

Matthew  nodded  his  head  and  sighed. 


NINA  223 

"  You  had  better  go  across  to  the  priest's,  Miss.  These 
gentry  are  full  up.  With  all  their  row  you  will  never  be 
able  to  sleep." 

"  That  won't  matter,"  rephed  Nina.  "  Have  they  had 
such  a  lot  to  drink,  then  ?  " 

"  Ah  1  I  should  just  think  they  had  !  "  said  Matthew, 
half-irritably  and  half-enviously.     He  sighed  again. 

"  They've  been  at  it  all  the  evening.  .  .  .  You  ought 
really  to  go  to  the  priest's.  They  mean  to  make  a  night 
of  it." 

"  That  won't  matter,"  said  Nina  once  more. 

Matthew,  disapproving,  was  silent.  "  Well,  I'm  off," 
he  said  at  last. 

Nina  went  with  him  to  the  door  which  she  bolted,  and 
then  passed  through  the  school-room  to  her  own  room 
taking  the  lamp  with  her.  At  once  she  heard  sounds  of 
drunken  laughter,  of  the  clinking  of  glasses  and  of  the 
moving  of  chairs.  The  noise  came  through  the  door 
which  shut  off  her  room  from  that  used  by  "  officials  and 
travellers."  It  was  locked  and  covered  with  a  curtain, 
but  tobacco-fumes  and  a  hot,  heavy  odour  came  through 
it  into  Nina's  room.  She  opened  a  window,  looked  sus- 
piciously at  the  door,  and,  with  her  ear  close  against  it, 
listened. 

"  Ha  1  Ha  1  It's  all  very  well.  We  know  you  I 
Expect  you've  been  there  already,"  shouted  some  one 
with  brutal  vehemence. 

"  Shut  up  1 "  cried  another  with  a  wild,  drunken 
laugh. 

"  No,  sirs,  I  swear  to  God.  .  .  ." 

For  some  reason  or  other  Nina  suddenly  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  insulted,  although  she  had  understood  nothing. 
Bewildered  and  irresolute,  she  moved  to  the  table. 

*'  I  had  better  have  stayed  the  night  at  the  Ivolgins'," 
she  thought,  in  fear  and  disgust. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  wall  she  heard  shouts  and  the 
noise  of  falling  furniture  ;  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  fighting  like  wild  beasts  in  a  cage.  Nina  strove  not 
to  listen.  She  sat  down  at  the  table  and  gazed  thought- 
fully at  the  lamp-light. 


224  NINA 

"  Education,  so  they  say,  makes  man  moral.  Our 
peasants  would  never  roar  like  that.  .  .  .  They  must 
know  that  I  am  here  !  No,  a  vile  man  becomes  by 
education  yet  more  vile.  ...  It  is  as  if  all  that  he  does 
were  done  intentionally." 

Then  she  recollected  that  in  April  she  would  be  free  to 

go- 

"  I  wish  that  it  could  be  soon.  ...     I  am  so  tired." 

Unconsciously  her  face  wore  a  jaded,  weary  expression. 
Yet  bright,  glad  thoughts  came  back  to  her — visions  of 
faces  she  loved  from  the  wade,  joyous  world  that  lay 
before.  Smiling,  she  gave  them  welcome  with  her  dark, 
thoughtful  eyes. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door.  Nina 
started  and  looked  round. 

"  Please  .  .  .  Miss,"  said  a  voice  so  loudly  that  it 
seemed  as  if  it  were  in  the  room,  "  could  you  .  .  .  please, 
Miss,  let  us  have  a  candle  ?     Our  lamp  is  going  out." 

Nina  smiled  confusedly,  as  if  the  speaker  could  see  her, 
and  stammered  out,  "  Er — yes,  yes  !  " 

She  got  up,  and,  fumbling  in  the  cupboard,  produced 
a  candle  with  which  she  went  to  the  door.  The  bolt  was 
on  her  side.  She  thrust  it  back,  and,  opening  the  door 
very  slightly,  put  her  hand  through  the  aperture. 

"  Here  !     Will  you  please  take  this  ?  " 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Miss  !  So  much  obliged  !  " 
said  with  unnatural  politeness  the  same  thick,  drunken 
voice.  To  Nina  it  was  as  if  the  speaker  had  made  her  a 
bow  ;  but  he  did  not  take  the  candle.  Nina,  holding  this 
still,  moved  it  again  in  front  of  the  door.  She  thought 
she  heard  a  chuckle,  and  suddenly  felt  as  if,  close  to  her 
hand,  something  was  being  stealthily  attempted.  Before 
she  could  be  certain  a  fat,  moist  hand  grasped  the  candle, 
and  pressed  Nina's  finger-tips  wdth  brutal  gallantry  close 
to  the  greasy  tallow. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you.  Miss  !  "  said  the  same  voice, 
hastily,  and  in  a  more  repulsively  polite  tone  than 
ever. 

"  Don't  mention  it  !  "  replied  Nina  mechanically,  as 
she  withdrew  her  hand. 


NINA  225 

There  was  suddenly  silence  in  the  adjoining  room  ; 
and,  after  that,  a  dull,  suppressed  murmuring. 

Feeling  reassured;  Nina  sat  down  on  the  bed,  yawned, 
and  began  to  undress.  She  took  off  her  boots,  her  dress, 
and  her  stays,  remaining  in  her  chemise  and  long  black 
stockings  with  pale  blue  garters.  The  tight-fitting  black 
stockings  made  her  feet  look  so  dainty  and  childish, 
and  her  soft,  delicately  moulded  arms  were  lustrous  in 
the  lamplight.  She  arranged  her  hair  for  the  night, 
removing  the  hair-pins  and  making  a  single  plait. 

"  If  you  please.  Miss,"  said  the  voice  again  at  the  door, 
"  we've  made  some  tea.  Won't  you  have  a  glass  with 
us?" 

The  voice  was  still  that  of  a  drunken  man,  and  it  sounded 
unnaturally  polite,  but  the  tone  was  more  excited  than 
before,  as  if  the  speaker  panted  between  each  word. 

"  No,  thank  you  !  "  answered  Nina,  in  alarm,  seizing 
the  counterpane.  The  voice  was  mute,  and  silence 
reigned.  Only  a  second  it  seemed  of  absolute  stillness, 
and  then  through  the  window  came  a  far-off  sound  of 
turbulence  and  commotion  from  the  river.  The  wind 
wrenched  off  a  shutter,  and  howled  round  the  roof,  from 
which  a  slab  of  ice  fell,  breaking  like  glass. 

Nina  got  gently,  almost  stealthily,  into  bed,  as  if  she 
sought  to  conceal  herself,  drawing  the  coverlet  right  up 
to  her  chin.  Her  eyes  were  wide  open,  fixed  in  a  vacant, 
horrified  stare  upon  the  door,  and  thoughts  whirled  in 
her  brain  like  startled  birds. 

"  I  must  get  away.  ...  If  only  Matthew  would 
come  !  .  .  ." 

Yet,  instead  of  escaping,  she  did  not  dare  to  move, 
but  convulsively  clutched  the  coverlet  and  drew  it  up  to 
her  chin,  striving  to  allay  her  fears. 

"  Nonsense  !  Drunken  fellows  .  .  .  what  could  they 
do  ?     They  would  never  dare  to  come  in  !  " 

To  her,  this  seemed  simple  and  conclusive  enough,  yet 
at  the  same  moment  she  felt  that  something  incredibly 
hideous  was  about  to  happen. 

At  the  door  all  was  still. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  but  the  bolt  is  not  drawn."     The  words 


1 


226  NINA 

were  uttered  in  an  awful  whisper  quite  close  to  Nina'; 
almost  in  her  ear.  Scarcely  audible,  and  yet  having  the 
effect  of  a  piercing  scream,  they  sent  a  flash  of  mortal 
terror  through  her  brain. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  Another  sharp  whisper 
in  her  ear,  and,  at  the  same  time  a  slight  noise,  as  of 
some  one  behind  the  curtain  who  stealthily,  with  bated 
breath,  was  trjang  to  open  the  door. 

Nina's  brain  reeled  ;  her  soul  and  body  were  gripped 
by  wild  fear ;  one  keen,  agonizing  thought  of  something 
inconceivably  horrible  seemed  to  light  up  the  whole 
world.  As  if  a  hand  had  struck  her,  she  sprang  up, 
and,  half  nude,  hke  some  beautiful  httle  animal,  stood  by 
the  bed,  at  bay.  The  curtain  moved  gently.  From  the 
gloom  behind  it  a  large,  shado^\y  form  emerged. 

"  What — what  do  you  want  ?  Go  away  at  once  ! 
I'll  scream  !  "  cried  Nina,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

The  shadowy  form  suddenly  tottered  forward,  and  a 
big,  red,  burly  man  almost  fell  into  the  room.  Behind 
him  came  a  second,  and  a  third. 

"Eh  .  .  .  we've  come  to  thank  you  .  .  .  for  the  candle 
and  .  .  .  well,  you  see  .  .  .  perhaps  you're  feeling  a 
bit  lonely  .  .  .  such  a  pretty  girl,  too "...  stammered 
the  man,  with  a  hideous  leer,  and,  by  his  bloated,  bestial 
eyes,  Nina  could  see  that  he  was  drunk.  Her  voice 
seemed  frozen  in  her  throat ;  but  suddenly  she  uttered  a 
wild,  piercing  shriek  ! 

"Help!    Help!" 

"  Be  quiet  !  Hush  !  "  hissed  some  one  in  alarm. 
Thereupon  the  big,  burly  man  attacked  her,  and  with  his 
whole  body  crushed  her  against  the  wall.  Some  one, 
panting,  seized  her  in  his  rough,  sweaty  hands  and  with 
a  suppressed  grunt  of  fury  flung  her  aside.  .  .  . 


II 

Then,  suddenly,  they  became  sober. 

The  grey  dawn  had  come ;  the  lamp  went  out ;  the 
room  had  a  close,  sickening  smell.  Pillows  lay  on  the 
floor,  and  the  coverlet  was  huddled  up  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  Bruised  and  blue,  Nina  lay  there,  crying  and 
screaming,  as  she  tossed  from  side  to  side  ;  not  beautiful, 
now,  but  wretched,  awful,  even  hideous  to  behold.  The 
tall,  pale  Commissioner  of  Police  held  her  down  with  all 
his  might,  closing  her  mouth  with  one  hand.  The  Doctor 
and  the  Magistrate  looked  on,  moving  restlessly  up  and 
down.  Their  hands  trembled ;  their  eyes  were  blood- 
shot and  vacant ;  their  faces  in  the  dawnlight  seemed 
strangely  grey. 

"Come,  now,  do  listen,  little  one.  .  .  .  It's  no  good  making 
all  this  fuss  ...  it  can't  be  helped  now.  .  .  .  Do  listen, 
for  goodness'  sake  !     What's  done  is  done  !  " 

So,  all  speaking  at  once,  the  three  strove  noisily  to 
pacify  her  ;   and  at  last  relapsed  into  craven  silence. 

Nina,  however,  the  wreck  of  her  former  engaging, 
beautiful  self,  writhed,  disfigured  and  soiled,  in  the 
Commissioner's  grasp.  Wrenching  herself  free,  she 
shrieked  again,  her  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets. 

"What  on  earth  are  we  to  do  with  her  ?  "  muttered  the 
Magistrate,  furious  and  afraid. 

From  the  village  yonder  came  sounds  remote,  indistinct. 
Just  below  the  window,  loudly,  defiantly,  a  cock  crew  thrice. 

"  Ah  !  Ah  !  Ah  !  "  screamed  Nina,  who  had  freed 
her  mouth  from  the  Commissioner's  grasp. 

His  features  became  distorted  with  bestial  rage  as  he 
ruthlessly  gripped  her  face  with  all  his  force,  crumpling 
it  up  in  such  a  way  that  his  fingers  were  covered  with 
blood  and  saliva.  For  a  moment  they  looked  both  into 
each  other's  eyes — a  brief,  piercing,  glance,  horrible, 
inhuman. 

"  Now  .  .  .  scream  away,  do  !  "  hissed  the  Commis- 
sioner in  frenzied  triumph. 

227 


Ill 

It  was  a  bright,  sunny  morning.  Long,  damp  shadows 
still  lay  in  front  of  the  houses  and  fences,  but  where  the 
sun  shone  the  puddles  glittered,  and,  here  and  there, 
straws  that  had  been  trodden  into  the  frozen  mud  gleamed 
like  gold.  The  school-yard  was  empty,  and  only  the  mark 
of  wheels  in  the  wet  ground  were  visible.  All  the  furniture 
in  the  room  "  For  Officials  and  Travellers  "  was  displaced, 
except  the  sofa  that  was  set  exactly  in  front  of  the  door. 
One  could  see  empty  bottles,  dirty  glasses,  heaps  of  wet, 
greasy  cigar-ashes  and  crushed  gherkins.  It  seemed 
strange  to  imagine  that  human  beings  had  been  here. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  door,  in  Nina's  room,  all  was  still 
and  motionless.  It  was  as  though  the  folding-doors, 
like  clenched  teeth,  were  guarding  a  grim  secret. 

Until  eleven  o'clock  the  school-yard  was  crowded  with 
boys  and  girls  chasing,  pushing,  and  striking  each  other, 
shrill- voiced  as  a  flock  of  sparrows.  But  at  eleven  o'clock 
a  sudden  ominous  silence  ensued.  Then  some  one  rushed 
down  the  street  to  proclaim  the  awful  news,  and  at  once 
there  was  a  stir  and  commotion,  as  from  every  side 
horror-struck  people  ran,  shouting,  to  the  school-house. 
Old  Ivolgin  came,  and  the  fat  veteran  of  the  village, 
and  the  policeman.  The  door  was  opened,  and  into 
Nina's  mournful  room,  where  all  was  silent  as  the  grave, 
noisy  folk  forced  their  way,  with  strange,  wild,  curious 
eyes. 

There,  where  all  was  sad  and  silent,  all  things  bore 
mute  and  harrowing  testimony  to  a  mysterious  and  awful 
tragedy.  The  whole  room  had  obviously  been  hastily 
and  ignorantly  set  in  order  by  strange  hands,  the  furniture 
accurately  placed,  and  the  bed,  as  if  long  disused  and 
superfluous,  most  carefully  made.  Nina's  clothes  lay 
folded  with  scrupulous  neatness  upon  a  chair,  and  the 
room  had  a  strange,  faint,  indefinable  odour. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room,  from  a  peg  of  the  empty  clothes- 
stand,  Nina  was  found  hanging,  in  a  white  chemise  with 

228 


NINA  229 

spotless  pleats  that  still  smelt  of  soap.  Her  delicate  arms, 
already  slightly  discoloured,  hung  helplessly  at  her  side, 
and  her  legs,  in  black  stockings,  with  sky-blue  garters, 
were  unnaturally  bent  outwards,  as  if  convulsively 
struggling  to  touch  the  ground.  The  ghastly  head,  blue 
and  bloated,  with  its  glassy  eyes  was  bent  backwards  ; 
from  livid  lips  the  big,  puffy  tongue  protruded ;  the 
agonized  expression  of  the  face  was  inconceivably  horrible. 
Old  Ivolgin  uttered  a  wild  shriek,  and  the  others  with 
him  screamed  and  chattered  incoherently,  as  if  they  had 
lost  their  reason.  A  deep,  long-drawTi  sigh  seemed  to 
float  along  the  street,  subsiding  in  the  dense  dark  crowd 
that  tlironged  the  stairway.  The  general  horror  and 
disgust  knew  no  bounds,  while  deeper  and  deeper  grew 
the  thirst  for  revenge. 


IV 

On  the  next  day,  towards  evening,  the  Commissioner 
of  Police,  the  Magistrate  and  the  Doctor  arrived;  not 
together,  but  singly.  There  was  yet  dayhght,  but  where 
the  lengthening  shadows  fell,  thin,  brittle  ice  sparkled. 
From  the  office  they  went  to  the  desolate-looking  school- 
house  in  front  of  which  two  plain-clothes  policemen  with 
a  stretcher  were  posted.  In  silence  the  officials  entered 
the  school-house.  The  fat,  bloated  Doctor  was  breathing 
hard,  and  his  hands  twitched  convulsively  Hke  a  helpless 
animal  scratching  the  ground.  The  gaunt,  lanky  Com- 
missioner led  the  way,  his  face  hard  as  stone,  resolute 
and  bold. 

The  Magistrate  walked  sideways  ;  his  thin  white  neck 
moved  in  jerks  beneath  his  puny,  pert  face,  and  fair, 
upturned  moustache. 

The  Commissioner  was  the  first  to  enter  the  room, 
walking  straight  up  to  the  corpse,  cold  and  motionless, 
in  its  sack-cloth  shroud.  For  the  space  of  a  second  he 
looked  upon  that  ghastly  head,  and  then,  turning  round, 
said  in  a  dull,  hard  voice : 

"  Away  with  it  !  " 

The  two  assistants  hastily  flung  down  their  caps  by 
the  door,  and  carefully,  with  slippered  feet,  approached 
the  bed.  Their  hands  trembled;  even  their  backs,  bent 
and  rigid,  expressed  horror  and  pity.  Breathing  low,  they 
halted. 

"  Be  quick  !  "  said  the  Commissioner  in  the  same  hollow, 
determined  voice. 

The  men  obeyed.  The  httle  black  feet  quivered,  and 
then  rose  and  sank  helplessly.  From  the  coarse  canvas- 
covering  a  small  Hvid  hand  fell  out,  and  dangled  on  the 
floor. 

"  Carry  her  down  to  the  yard  on  the  stretcher  !  " 

The  men  moved  forward,  then  stopped,  and  then  moved 
on  again,  carrying  their  burden  as  if  it  was  something 
extremely  heavy  and  fragile. 

230 


NINA  231 

As  the  strangely  extended  black  legs  moved  down  the 
school-house  steps,  another  sigh,  muffled  and  poignant, 
swept  along  the  village  street  alive  with  a  hundred 
staring  eyes. 

"  Drive  those  people  away  !  "  whispered  the  cowardly 
Doctor  to  the  Commissioner. 

The  latter  drew  himself  up,  as  in  a  cold,  domineering 
tone,  he  shouted :  "  What  are  you  all  staring  at  ?  Go 
away  !     March  !  " 

The  mob  moved,  grew  denser,  swayed,  and  remained 
stationary. 

"  Go  away  !  Go  away  !  "  cried  the  policemen,  gesticu- 
lating timorously,  feebly. 

Nina  had  been  carried  down  on  the  stretcher  and  placed 
on  the  frozen  ground.  The  little  head  shook  shghtly, 
and  then  lay  quite  still. 

One  of  the  men,  a  pale,  fair  fellow,  crossed  himself  in 
terror.  The  Commissioner,  glancing  at  him,  said  mechani- 
cally : 

"  Go  and  fetch  witnesses." 

The  man's  features  were  contracted  as  if  by  a  spasm  of 
genuine  pity  and  brainless  fear. 


After  the  inspection  of  the  corpse  the  Doctor  and  the 
Magistrate  sat  silently  in  the  office.  Starless  night  lay 
without,  and  on  the  dark  plain  some  one  seemed  to  hover, 
listening. 

"  Oh  !  my  God,  my  God  !  "  groaned  the  Doctor,  as 
with  fat  fingers  he  tried  to  make  a  cigarette. 

The  Magistrate  glanced  at  him  and  walked  up  and 
do"vvTi  the  room. 

Both  were  utterly  dejected ;  each  felt  unable  to  look 
the  other  in  the  face.  Thoughts,  recollections,  blurred 
and  confused,  yet  at  times  sharp  as  a  razor,  flashed  through 
their  besotted  brains.  To  the  Doctor  at  times  it  seemed 
as  if  all  were  an  error,  a  mistake  that  could  be  rectified ; 
all  would  pass  away,  and  hfe  would  be  as  jolly  and  pleasant 
as  before.  Then  suddenly  there  came  a  fiery  mist,  and 
the  vision  of  an  alluring  maid  with  whom  that  which 
they  willed  to  do  they  did,  until  the  obscuring  clouds  of 
drunkenness  and  obscenity  rose  and  revealed  a  livid 
corpse.  All  hfe  vanished  ;  even  the  possibility  of  living  ; 
the  whole  future  was  engulfed  in  the  black  chasm  of  terror 
from  which  escape  there  was  none.  Avenging  forms 
arose  ;  famihar  faces  became  strange  and  hideous  ;  hands 
were  stretched  forth  to  seize ;  and  the  heart  sank  down, 
down  into  an  abyss  of  horror  and  shame. 

"  Oh !  my  God,  my  God ! "  groaned  the  Doctor, 
waihng  for  mercy.  The  Magistrate  paced  the  room 
from  one  corner  to  the  other,  walking  faster  and  faster, 
as  if  to  escape  from  something.  The  boards  creaked ;  it 
seemed  as  though  a  phantom  were  pursuing  him.  The 
Doctor's  lamentations  irritated  him.  They  were  needless 
now,  he  thought ;  the  important  thing  was  how  to  wriggle 
out  of  the  affair.  The  thought  of  that  little  murdered 
girl  had  taken  firm  root  in  a  dark  corner  of  his  brain. 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !  "  sighed  the  Doctor.  The  Magistrate 
became  furious.  He  turned  sharply  round,  his  little  eyes, 
transparent  as  gelatine,  rolling  with  rage. 

232 


NINA  233 

"  What's  the  good  of  all  this  whining  ?  "  he  exclaimed  ; 
"  for  God's  sake,  shut  up  !  " 
An  evil  thought  suddenly  flashed  across  his  mind. 
"  You  planned  the  whole  thing  yourself,  and  now  you 
blubber  like  some  old  woman  !  "  he  said  viciously,  without 
looking  at  the  Doctor. 

The  latter  understood  him  and  turned  a  purplish  red. 
His  big  round  face  resembled  a  child's  toy  balloon.  His 
breath  came  in  short,  laboured  gasps. 

"  What  ?  ...  It  was  I  ?  ...  I  that  .  .  .  ?  "  he 
stuttered,  slowly  rising  on  his  short  legs. 

"  Of  course,  it  was  you !  "  retorted  the  other  with  a 
nod  and  a  chuckle. 

The  httle  lamp  on  the  table  tottered,  and  its  green 
glass  shade  rattled  piteously.  The  light  fell  on  broad, 
firmly  planted  feet,  and  fists  convulsively  clenched. 
The  faces  of  the  two  were  in  the  shade ;  their  eyes  only 
gleamed  ferociously. 

"  /  ?  "  gasped  the  Doctor,  choking  with  rage. 
"  Yes,     you,    you,    you  !  "     shouted    the    Magistrate 
wildly. 

"  Who  first  suggested  it  ?  " 
"  I  was  only  joking ;   but  you  went  in  first." 
"  And  who  hit  her  on  the  head,  pray  ?     Yes,  on  the 
head  ?     I  did,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  but  who  was  it  that  said  we  had  nothing  to 
fear  ?  " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  They  both  started 
backward  in  alarm,  and  were  mute.  The  Commissioner 
of  Police  entered.  He  was  wearing  a  dull  grey  coat 
with  shining  buttons,  and  his  sword.  His  face  looked 
grey  and  hard  as  stone ;  his  eyes  had  a  lustre  as 
of  metal.  Approaching  the  table  he  leant  upon  it  with 
both  hands,  and,  looking  at  the  wall  between  them, 
said  : 

"  We  will  hold  the  inquest  at  once." 
Then,  as  he  did  not  see,  but  felt,  how  pale  they  turned, 
he  bit  his  lip,  and  continued  ,• 

"  We  might  have  had  such  a  nice  night  of  it.  This 
stupid  affair  has  spoilt  everything.     Ah  !  well,  it  doesn't 


234  NINA 

matter  !  "  He  glanced  scornfully  at  both  of  them,  and 
then,  altering  his  tone,  added  sternly  : 

"All  the  same,  we're  not  going  to  ruin  ourselves  just 
because  of  a  woman.  We  must  get  ourselves  out  of  it 
somehow,  eh  ?  I  have  just  heard  that  two  peasants  saw 
the  watchman,  Matthew  Povalny,  leaving  the  school- 
house  that  night.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor  huskily. 
Again  a  black  thought  darted  into  the  Magistrate's  mind. 
He  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  That's  what  will  save  us  !  It's  not  a  case  of  outrage  ; 
merely  one  of  theft.  That's  simpler,  and  it  won't  create 
so  much  fuss.  I'll  manage  the  watchman.  No  need  to 
bring  it  in  outrage  at  all.  ..." 

"  Oh  !  .  .  .  I  see  !  "  said  the  Commissioner,  leaning 
over  the  table,  and  craning  his  sinewy  neck  as  if  to  hear 
a  distant  sound.  But  the  Magistrate  grasped  the  grey 
cloak  and  whispered  something,  as  his  eyes  rolled  insanely, 
and  saliva  spirted  from  his  mouth. 

As  he  proceeded  to  explain  how  all  the  blame  should 
be  laid  upon  the  watchman,  the  fat  Doctor  became  more 
and  more  unnerved.  Another  awful  phantom  confronted 
him ;  one  that  he  felt  powerless  to  face.  When  the 
Magistrate  had  finished  speaking,  the  Doctor  sank  feebly 
into  a  chair,  struck  the  table  with  his  elbow,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  fat  fingers,  exclaiming  fretfully : 

"  Oh,  Lord !  Oh,  Lord  !  What  are  you  going  to  do 
now  ?  " 

The  Commissioner  slowly  turned  to  him  a  face  of 
iron. 

"  What  else  is  there  to  be  done  ?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"  Why,  that  means  prison.  ...  An  innocent  man  is 
sent  to  prison  through  us  !  " 

The  Magistrate's  puny  face  was  lit  up  by  a  look  of 
savage  glee. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want,  then  ?  "  asked  the  Com- 
missioner, with  suppressed  ferocity  of  tone. 

"Impossible  .  .  .  I  can't  do  it!"  The  Doctor  groaned 
and  pressed  his  fingers  harder  against  his  face. 


NINA  235 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  I  can't  do  it  ?  '  " 

"  No,  I  can't  !  "  The  Doctor  shook  his  head.  "  I 
can't,"  he  murmured  in  a  broken,  husky  voice. 

"  Ah  !  but  you  could  do  what  you  did  !  "  cried  the 
Magistrate. 

"  That  .  .  .  well  .  .  .  how  that  happened,  I  don't 
know.  .  .  .  But  this  ...  no,  I  can't !  "  replied  the 
Doctor  sadly. 

"  So  you  can't  do  it  ?  But  twelve  years'  penal  servitude 
— you  could  do  that,  eh  ?  "  asked  the  Magistrate  veno- 
mously, as  he  bent  down  close  to  the  Doctor's  ear.  "  And 
how  about  your  wife  and  child,  eh  ?  " 

Hurriedly  uncovering  his  fat,  red,  perspiring  features, 
the  Doctor  stared  at  the  speaker  with  dazed,  lustreless 
eyes.  His  head  sank  on  the  table,  and  he  sobbed  and 
moaned  : 

"  My  God  !  My  God  !  "  .  .  .  What  will  be  the  end 
of  it  all  ?     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

His  head  wobbled  to  and  fro  on  the  edge  of  the  table 
like  a  big  soft  ball. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  humbug  ?  "  asked 
the  Commissioner  contemptuously,  as  he  moved  away 
from  the  table.     "  I  fail  to  understand." 

The  Doctor  sobbed,  and  then  suddenly  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. The  Magistrate  in  alarm  hastened  to  fetch  water, 
and,  as  the  glass  rattled  against  the  other's  teeth,  he  kept 
repeating ; 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  stop  !  What's  the  matter  ? 
We  had  a  bit  of  fun  with  the  girl ;  we  were  drunk, 
and — there  it  is  !  Anybody  else  in  our  place  would 
have  done  the  same.  We  never  meant  to  kill  her, 
did  we  ?  Here,  drink  this,  go  on  !  Be  quiet  and  don't 
scream  like  that !  What's  done  is  done,  and  it  can't  be 
mended  !  " 

The  Doctor  now  began  to  groan  and  laugh  alternately. 
The  Magistrate  turned  round  in  terror,  and  for  a  moment 
experienced  a  most  extraordinary  sensation.  It  was  as  if 
he  and  the  others  had  gone  mad  ;  his  brain  seemed  on 
fire.     The  Commissioner,  rushing  forward,  knocked  the 


236  NINA 

glass  out  of  his  hand  and,   seizing  the  Doctor  by  the 

shoulder,  yelled  at  him  furiously ; 

"  Shut  up,  curse  you  !     If  you  don't,  I'll  kill  you  !  " 
The  Doctor  shook  as  if  his  head  were  being  torn  from 

his  body,  and  stammered  out :    "  I  .  .  .  understand  ,  .  . 

Let  me  .  .  .  alone  .  .  .  !     I'll  say  .  .  .  nothing  !  " 


VI 

Already  that  evening,  invisibly,  inaudibly,  news  of  the 
grave  crime  had  passed  from  lip  to  lip,  and  gradually 
the  spirit  of  mutiny  and  revolt  grew  deeper.  Next  morn- 
ing workmen  at  the  cotton  factory  and  on  the  railway 
left  their  work,  and  in  black  crowds  surged  across  the 
fields  to  the  village.  "  They  murdered  her  themselves, 
and  now  they  want  to  hold  an  inquest !  "  cried  a  dull, 
hard  voice ;  and  from  these  words  something  huge  and 
sinister  as  an  approaching  cloud  took  shape  which  grew 
with  lightning  speed,  and,  moving,  bore  in  its  wake  the 
bygone  shame  and  oppression  of  centuries. 

It  was  as  if  this  little  murdered  maiden  had  been  the 
embodiment  of  gaiety  and  youth  and  human  charm, 
and  that  these  now  were  hopelessly  extinguished  and 
destroyed. 

When,  early  in  the  morning,  the  corpse  was  carried  by 
police-agents  along  the  street,  a  huge  crowd  like  a  black 
whirlpool  blocked  the  whole  road,  dispersing  silently  at 
the  approach  of  the  roughly  made,  unpolished  coffin 
that  slowly  swayed  aloft.  No  one  knew  what  to  do  ; 
but  all  gazed  mournfully  at  the  yellow  lid.  Silence 
prevailed,  but  yonder,  somewhere  in  the  distance,  there 
was  a  suppressed  sound  like  subterranean  rumblings. 

The  sky  grew  bright ;  frost  shone  on  the  roofs,  the 
fences,  and  the  ground.  A  single  star  gleamed  sadly  in 
the  east.  Slowly  forming  a  circle,  the  black  crowd  followed 
the  coffin  down  the  long,  silent  street.  In  the  sky  all 
was  so  pure  and  calm  and  bright ;  and  all  so  restless, 
so  brutal  on  the  black  earth.  The  bier  was  hastily  borne 
to  the  church,  and  then,  at  a  slow  pace,  to  the  graveyard. 

Suddenly  a  voice  was  heard,  shrill,  insistent.  Grey- 
haired  Ivolgin  ran,  bareheaded,  after  the  bier,  and, 
shaking  his  bony  fist,  shouted :  "  Stop  !     Stop  !  " 

The  coffin  came  to  a  standstill  as  of  its  own  accord, 
swaying  to  and  fro.  Ivolgin  approached,  his  grey  hair 
ruffled,  his  eyes  moist,  his  mouth  awry. 

237 


236  NINA 

glass  out  of  his  hand  and,   seizing  the  Doctor  by  the 

shoulder,  yelled  at  him  furiously  ; 

"  Shut  up,  curse  you  !     If  you  don't,  I'll  kill  you  !  " 
The  Doctor  shook  as  if  his  head  were  being  torn  from 

his  body,  and  stammered  out :   "  I  .  .  .  understand  .  .  . 

Let  me  .  .  .  alone  .  .  .  !     I'll  say  .  .  .  nothing  !  " 


VI 

Already  that  evening,  invisibly,  inaudibly,  news  of  the 
grave  crime  had  passed  from  lip  to  lip,  and  gradually 
the  spirit  of  mutiny  and  revolt  grew  deeper.  Next  morn- 
ing workmen  at  the  cotton  factory  and  on  the  railway 
left  their  work,  and  in  black  crowds  surged  across  the 
fields  to  the  village.  "  They  murdered  her  themselves, 
and  now  they  want  to  hold  an  inquest !  "  cried  a  dull, 
hard  voice ;  and  from  these  words  something  huge  and 
sinister  as  an  approaching  cloud  took  shape  which  grew 
with  lightning  speed,  and,  moving,  bore  in  its  wake  the 
bygone  shame  and  oppression  of  centuries. 

It  was  as  if  this  little  murdered  maiden  had  been  the 
embodiment  of  gaiety  and  youth  and  human  charm, 
and  that  these  now  were  hopelessly  extinguished  and 
destroyed. 

When,  early  in  the  morning,  the  corpse  was  carried  by 
police-agents  along  the  street,  a  huge  crowd  like  a  black 
whirlpool  blocked  the  whole  road,  dispersing  silently  at 
the  approach  of  the  roughly  made,  unpolished  coffin 
that  slowly  swayed  aloft.  No  one  knew  what  to  do  ; 
but  all  gazed  mournfully  at  the  yellow  lid.  Silence 
prevailed,  but  yonder,  somewhere  in  the  distance,  there 
was  a  suppressed  sound  like  subterranean  rumblings. 

The  sky  grew  bright ;  frost  shone  on  the  roofs,  the 
fences,  and  the  ground.  A  single  star  gleamed  sadly  in 
the  east.  Slowly  forming  a  circle,  the  black  crowd  followed 
the  coffin  down  the  long,  silent  street.  In  the  sky  all 
was  so  pure  and  calm  and  bright;  and  all  so  restless, 
so  brutal  on  the  black  earth.  The  bier  was  hastily  borne 
to  the  church,  and  then,  at  a  slow  pace,  to  the  graveyard. 

Suddenly  a  voice  was  heard,  shrill,  insistent.  Grey- 
haired  Ivolgin  ran,  bareheaded,  after  the  bier,  and, 
shaking  his  bony  fist,  shouted :  "  Stop  !     Stop  !  " 

The  coffin  came  to  a  standstill  as  of  its  own  accord, 
swaying  to  and  fro.  Ivolgin  approached,  his  grey  hair 
ruffled,  his  eyes  moist,  his  mouth  awTy. 

237 


238  NINA 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  gasped,  attempting  to 
stop  the  coffin's  progress.  "  Go  back  !  First  murdered, 
and  then  the  matter  hushed  up  !  Lying  villains  !  Go 
back  !     We'll  see  about  that !  " 

A  dull  murmur,  as  that  of  distant  breakers,  rose  from 
the  crowd. 

"  For  these  words,  Ivolgin,  you  will  have  to  answer  ! 
Do  you  hear  ?  "  cried  a  police-agent,  obstructing  the 
old  man's  approach.     "  Go  on,  you  fellows,  go  on  !  " 

Ivolgin  mechanically  grasped  the  other's  hand,  and  his 
lips  moved  convulsively. 

"  Don't  lay  your  hands  on  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  police- 
agent,  roughly  withdrawing  his  hand.  But  Ivolgin 
seized  him  by  the  elbow  and  murmured  something, 
.  ■'ening  and  shutting  his  mouth  like  a  fish. 

"  Leave  me  alone  !  "  shouted  the  police-agent  furiously. 

"  It  was  they  who  killed  her  !  They,  themselves  !  " 
murmured  Ivolgin,  at  last.  "  You're  doing  wrong.  .  .  . 
You  surely  know.  ..." 

"  Know  ?  What  do  I  know  ?  "  cried  the  police-agent 
angrily.  "  What  is  it — what  business  is  it  of  yours  ? 
Here,  arrest  this  man  !  " 

A  fair,  pale  man  timidly  caught  hold  of  Ivolgin' s  arm. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  chaps  ?  "  cried  a  voice  from  the 
crowd. 

"  Let  him  go  !  Murderers  !  Stop  the  funeral,  you 
fellows !  Wha  ...  a  ...  at  ?  Don't  let  them  go 
on  !  "  Several  voices  uttered  these  words  wildly  and 
at  random,  as  the  crowd  suddenly  surged  forward.  The 
police-agent  yelled  out  something  in  reply,  but  his  words 
were  lost  in  the  general  din.  The  coffin  swayed,  and  then 
was  swiftly  lowered  to  the  ground. 


VII 

Next  day  at  noon  the  District  Governor  arrived,  ha^ang 
been  summoned  by  telegraph.  He  was  accompanied  by 
the  Commissioner  of  Police.  Ever  since  the  early  morn- 
ing the  whole  village  had  been  astir.  The  coffin  stood  in 
the  empty  church,  the  sunlight  falling  on  its  yellow  lid. 

The  fat,  pompous  Governor  climbed  down  from  his 
carriage  in  clumsy  fashion,  saying  sharply  to  the  Com- 
missioner, but  in  an  undertone ;  "  Call  the  police-witnesses 
and  have  the  girl  buried  at  once." 

Taking  short  steps,  he  himself  walked  briskly  to  the 
church.  The  space  in  front  of  the  porch  was  filled  by 
a  silent  crowd.  The  policeman,  the  sergeant,  and  the 
Commissioner,  now  came,  and  their  heavy,  uneven  foot- 
steps could  be  heard  on  the  pavement  of  the  church. 
Then  they  went  out  again,  and  the  yellow  coffin-lid 
appeared  in  the  black  doorway,  swaying  above  the 
crowd. 

"  Come,  now,  clear  off !  "  said  the  Governor  sharply, 
as  he  scowled  at  the  spectators.  Silently,  automatically, 
the  crowd  advanced,  thronging  the  porch.  The  coffin 
was  brought  to  a  halt. 

"  Go  your  ways ! "  cried  the  Governor,  stepping 
forward. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  '  go  your  ways  ?  '  "  replied 
one  of  the  crowd.  "  First  you  murder  somebody,  and 
then  it  is,  '  go  your  ways  !  .  .  .'     A  fine  thing,  indeed  !  " 

Ivolgin,  with  a  small  white  cross  on  his  grey  cloak^ 
firmly  and  courteously  accosted  the  Governor. 

"  Allow  me,  sir,"  he  began,  in  a  low  voice,  bending 
closer.     "  The  voice  of  the  people  shows  that.  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  Governor,  turning 
sharply  round  and  frowning. 

"  I  was  saying  that  we  all  know  who  the  murderers 
are  ...  we  cannot  let  this  awful  crime.  ..." 

The  Governor  glanced  furtively  at  the  other,  and  then 
abruptly  turned  away. 

239 


240  NINA 

"  If  you  please,  this  is  no  business  of  yours.  Who  are 
you,  pray  ?  Be  good  enough  to  stand  aside."  With 
that  he  gently  pushed  Ivolgin  aside. 

"  Take  care,  sir  !  "  cried  Ivolgin,  in  a  threatening  voice, 
as  he  shook  himself  free. 

The  Governor  stopped  and  suddenly  grew  pale. 

"  Gently,  gently  !  "  he  muttered,  and  then,  in  a  tone 
of  command  ;  "  Remove  the  coffin  !  " 

A  long,  painful  silence  ensued.  All  stood  motionless. 
The  coffin  still  swayed  in  the  church  porch. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing,  you  fellows  ?  " 
cried  the  Governor,  white  with  anger.  His  voice  was 
weak  yet  shrill.  "  You'll  have  to  take  the  consequences  ! 
Let  the  coffin  pass.  The  inquiry  has  discovered  who  the 
culprit  is.  The  law  must  now  take  its  course,  or  you'll 
suffer  for  it  !  " 

"  Law  must  take  its  course,  indeed  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 
cried  several  mockingly.  "  Artful  fellows,  eh  ?  No,  my 
friends,  there's  no  such  thing  as  law  or  justice  !  " 

"  Stand  back  !  "  shouted  the  Governor,  beside  himself 
with  rage.     "  What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  means,"  cried  Ivolgin,  again 
advancing,  "  you  think  that,  for  you,  justice  does  not 
exist  !  You  Ijang  wretches  !  You're  going  to  be  brought 
to  justice,  now  !  " 

The  Governor,  frowning,  drew  back  a  step.  The  crowd 
instantly  advanced,  menacingly. 

"  Commissioner  !  "  cried  the  Governor,  utterly  dis- 
concerted. 

The  tall,  pale  Commissioner  pushed  roughly  past  him 
to  seize  Ivolgin.  His  face  hke  a  mask  of  steel  wore  a 
cold,  hard  expression  as  if  he  understood  nothing. 

Just  as  the  Commissioner  and  a  policeman  had  arrested 
Ivolgin,  a  big  gaunt  workman  struck  the  former  full  in 
the  face  with  his  bony  fist.     "  Murderer  !  "  he  cried. 

Blood  spurted,  and  there  was  a  gruesome  sound  of 
something  broken.  The  Commissioner  staggered  but 
kept  his  feet.  His  face  had  suddenly  become  shapeless. 
It  expressed  neither  pain  nor  fear,  but  only  brutish, 
insensate   fury.     He   yelled,    crouched   like   a   cat,    and 


" 


NINA  24 

leapt  at  the  workman.  Locked  for  a  moment  in  a  deadly 
embrace  they  both  staggered  and  fell,  screaming,  down 
the  steps  of  the  church  porch. 

In  a  moment  all  was  uproar  and  confusion.  Rebellion, 
as  a  grim,  grey  ghost,  floated  above  the  mob,  and  was 
mirrored  in  the  pallid  faces  of  the  fighters. 

"  Go  ahead  !  Give  it  to  them,  boys  !  "  cried  a  voice, 
high-pitched  and  exultant. 

The  Governor  and  the  Magistrate  ran  side  by  side  over 
the  muddy  ground,  splashing  through  the  half-melted 
snow,  their  faces  bedabbled  with  slush  and  mire.  They 
ran,  panting,  gasping  and  in  tatters,  bruised  and  dis- 
figured, like  big  hares  scurrying  across  the  fields,  pursued 
by  the  howling,  frenzied  mob. 


VIII 

That  night,  along  the  dark,  muddy  high-road  a  huge  mass 
advanced  towards  the  village.  Nothing  definite  was 
discernible  in  the  gloom,  but  one  could  hear  the  snorting 
of  horses,  the  trampling  of  hoofs  and  the  faint  jingling 
of  steel.  Neither  men  nor  movements  were  visible, 
but  it  was  as  if  some  force,  dense  and  threatening, 
approached. 

The  troops  halted  in  the  square.  The  streets  were 
silent  and  deserted  ;  only  a  couple  of  restless  yard-dogs 
barked  and  howled.  Here  and  there  lights  flickered  at 
windows  and  immediately  went  out.  A  detachment  of 
soldiers,  burly,  equal-sized  phantoms,  dismounted  and 
occupied  the  space  in  front  of  the  church.  Then  out  of 
the  darkness  they  brought  a  box  and  swiftly  carried  it 
across  the  glimmering  wall  to  the  churchyard.  All  was 
still.  Rest  everywhere,  until  the  coming  of  the  grey, 
restless  day.  At  dawn  the  main  street  was  again  filled 
by  black  masses  of  humanity — men  ill-favoured  and 
sinister  of  mien,  who  had  flocked  thither  from  the  factory 
whose  chimneys  no  longer  smoked,  standing  there  like 
huge  candles  that  had  been  put  out.  From  the  streets 
adjoining  the  square,  black  figures  emerged.  These 
gradually  became  fused  and  welded,  resembling  some 
dark  mass  that  had  been  poured  out  upon  the  snow- 
covered  square. 

Pale,  anxious  faces  collected  and  then  separated, 
glancing  round  and  watching  the  soldiery  with  rapt 
attention.  Half  the  square  by  the  church  was  occupied 
by  a  dense  crowd.  Some  squatted  on  the  w^all  and  on 
beams  beside  it — a  veritable  sea  of  faces.  The  other  half 
of  the  square  was,  as  before,  empty  and  silent.  Here, 
motionless,  in  one  long  line  the  Cossacks  were  stationed, 
their  stony,  inscrutable  faces  turned  towards  the  mob. 
They  sat  there,  rigid  in  their  saddles  ;  only  the  horses 
kept  nodding  their  heads.  In  front  of  them  sundry  grey 
forms  paced  to  and  fro  ;   strange  figures  that  shone  above 

242 


NINA  243 

the  dark  ground.  These  now  swung  themselves  adroitly 
into  their  saddles.  The  word  of  command  rang  out,  and 
the  long  line  of  cavalry  with  jingling  spurs  and  clattering 
hoofs  rode  straight  across  the  square  at  the  mob. 

Shouts    of    astonishment  and  alarm    now  broke  the 
silence,    as   the   crowd,    recoiling,    separated.     Then   the 
whole  black  mass  with  wild  shrieks  clambered  on  to  the 
wall   and   the   beams.     The   horses   tossed   their   heads 
vehemently  and  dashed  forward.     A  yell  rose  from  the 
wall,  and  a  storm  of  hisses.     One  tall,  haggard  workman 
rushed  from  the  church  towards  the  horses,  crying  : 
"  This  way,  boys,  this  way  !  " 
Others  followed  him,  one  by  one,  shouting  : 
"  Go  for  them  !     Let  them  have  it  I  " 
Riot  and  confusion  now  became  general.     Sticks  and 
stones  whizzed  through  the  air  ;   on  every  side  were  faces 
purple  with  fury,  and  wild,  flashing  eyes.     There  was  no 
shouting  now,  but  a  dull  confused  sound,  as  merciless 
blows    struck   living   bodies,    as    horses    whinnied,    and 
fighters  were  felled  to  the  ground.     Then  a  savage  yell 
of  triumph  resounded,  and  in  the  distance,  at  the  end  of 
the  square,  the  Cossacks  were  seen,  no  longer  in  a  regular 
line,  but  broken  up  into  little  groups.     On  these  a  steady 
rain  of  large  round  stones  was  falling. 

"  We've  won  !  "  cried  a  lanky  fellow,  laughing  trium- 
phantly like  a  schoolboy. 

"  Look  out,  you  chaps  !  "  said  a  voice  from  the  crowd, 
gently. 

Across  the  square,  on  the  other  side,  a  long  grey  stripe 
slowly  unravelled  itself,  and  one  could  see  plainly  how  a 
hundred  feet  struck  the  ground  with  swift  precision. 
Instantly  all  was  silent ;  and  once  more  above  the  square 
a  grim,  grey  phantom  hovered. 

■:■■''■. "  They'll  never  dare  to  do  that !     They  only  want  to 
frighten  us  !  "  murmured  voices,  nervously,  in  the  crowd. 
"  Lads  !   what  shall  we  do  now  ?  "   cried  the  workman 
hoarsely. 

Immediately  afterwards  there  was  a  loud  report. 
The  grey  men  opposite  had  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of 
bluish  smoke. 


IX 

Towards  evening  the  clouds  dispersed  and  there  was  a 
gleam  of  sunlight.  The  streets  were  deserted ;  only  hens 
wandered  calmly  across  the  high-road,  and,  close  to  the 
church,  dogs  sniffed  the  ground,  slinking  along,  their 
tails  between  their  legs.  Silence  and  horror  prevailed, 
while  between  the  earth  with  its  victims  and  the  fair 
blue  sky  a  Power  invisible,  deadly,  all-oppressing,  seemed 
to  hover. 

At  the  police-station,  on  stretchers,  lay  rows  of  rigid 
bodies,  with  white  eyes  staring  upwards.  In  these  eyes 
there  was  a  look,  a  sad,  questioning  look  of  horror  and 
despair. 


THE  END 


PRINTED  AT 
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*^  THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CAf  IFORNIA 
LOS  ANGEL!. S 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


14  1B53 


I  L9-100in-9,'52(A3105)444 


PG 

3U53 
ASAl^E 

1915 


Univt" 


IMI.l     Li 


L  007  626  888  7 


AA    000  538  104    1 


